


Darkness of the Heart: Chronicles of Shadow Spider

by Ist_Narsha_Shehlisa



Series: The Shadows of God [1]
Category: Spider-Man (Comicverse)
Genre: Black suit, Blood, Dead Aunt May, Dead MJ, Death, Depression, Flashbacks, Grief/Mourning, Heavy Angst, Hurt Peter, I'm seriously not going to list every possible tag, Identity Reveal, Manifesting shadows, More characters than listed, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Regret, Some Humor, Vampire Peter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-14
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2018-07-23 22:37:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 46,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7482612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ist_Narsha_Shehlisa/pseuds/Ist_Narsha_Shehlisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if? A hero loses faith in himself and everything else. When he chooses not to follow the principles that made him. What if? A beloved hero cracks under the weight of all the responsibility and hate the world throws at him and there is no one to bring him back. No matter what any person or Superhero does, from here onwards, Spider-man is no longer the hero he once was, is he even a hero?</p><p>*A lot of beloved characters in this story are dead so you are warned, but for those who know JJ Jameson and want to see the him sorry for harassing Spider-man this could be field day for you, sorry Jameson, Spidey ain't coming back from your stupidity this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Forgive me if it's a bit hard to read, but this is an alternate universe and there'll be a lot of focus on description and feelings. 
> 
> *Dead little girl warning!*
> 
> *Edit: I changed his name now that I've decided who he would identify as, and this is how he'd refer to himself until later on in the story

Petrakar looked out over the city from his perch, lights streaming like bright dots down in the streets below. Watching as the day passed from evening to night, as the sun sunk below the horizon into a deep sleep, replaced by the flashing lights and neon signs New York had to offer, not waking until the next day.  
Sometimes, Petrakar wished the dawn would not come. For the light to be forever hidden from the Earth. Sometimes, that hatred and despair would resurface and he would want nothing more than for the world to know the pain he lived with, the loneliness and sorrow that twisted him, for the world to be covered in the darkness that lurks within his heart, as black as the second skin, a wispy, shadow that was now his suit, his life and identity. But for this hatred, to snuff out all life, even now went against his true core. Life is precious. Perhaps not the people who spend their days making others feel terrible about themselves so that they may bolster their own pathetic self-esteem, or those who, out of greed or wrath or whatever sin there was to this world, turn to crime. A life is a life. And already he was breaking breakable rule number one, letting one's feelings get to him.  
The suit began to spread from his neck in shadows, ghosting over his face until his visage was completely covered in the blackness, broken by intricate white markings around his white eyes.  
No symbiote could compare with this...this new source of power, born from the depths of his broken, blackened heart. It gave him new abilities, never he had dreamed of before, never he had thought possible. If he didn't believe in magic and mystic then, now the evidence was undeniable, he had become the evidence. As he came to grips with this new situation he accepted that some things just can't be comprehended, only experienced. He rose, patting the Gargoyles that crouched on either side of Petrakar, hunching menacingly over the buttresses. He leaped from the tower of the cathedral to the streets below. Flicking out his wrist and shooting a strand of web at a distant building. It was somewhat refreshing swinging through the streets in the centre of New York City once again. Habits die hard, at least he didn't need web fluid any more, spider silk streamed from fingers. Stronger than any artificial substance he'd used before. Carrying him through the lights over the heads of New Yorkers. But no one looked up and no one noticed the black clad young man travelling gracefully above, he was invisible. Even if someone looked up, searching the sky for the once scorned hero, they would never see him. The so called Spider-man was now a shadow, a phantom and a sad legend.

As he cruised on, Petrakar could pick up the sounds of a scuffle a few blocks away. He followed them until he saw a large crowd gathered on the sidewalk. It was a gang war on the streets and somehow, the police hadn't reached them yet. One group of leather clad punks and bad attitude were at each other's throats, it seemed a dispute over territory and opinions gone sour and now a full on street brawl had broken out between them. People gathered around watching helplessly as things spiralled out of control. He landed on a street lamp overlooking the scene. Men, boys, rejects of society, failures to their families, failures to themselves threw themselves at each other, blindly throwing punches, kicking and pulling until their blood ran and mixed together on the dirty pavement, pooling in their shirts. One man grabbed what could have been a good friend by the collar and threw him into into an electric panel left carelessly open. This man watched as the other convulsed, while the smell of scorching flesh began to fill the air, staring in shock. The fight ended for him but no body else noticed and he thrown inside again. Now he couldn't see, couldn't run.

“This is getting ugly.”

“I can't watch...”

“Someone call the cops!”

The bystanders said in hushed voices. Sure enough word reached the police, Petrakar could hear the sirens in the distance as they rushed as best they could through traffic to the scene. It would take the better part of half an hour before they got here. Fact: it takes ten minutes of fist-fighting before things get really ugly.  
Someone pulls out a gun, three guys pull out their blades. Ten minutes was up. Some people won't go home tonight.  
A gunshot rings and people start screaming and running in general directions as more gunshots fire into the night. It all seemed to happen in seconds but really it was ten minutes sped up. Twenty minutes and the cops finally arrive but the fight has already disbanded, leaving civilians panicking blindly on the street. Nine. Three of them are gang members, five, poor stupid souls, one child. All lined up for the boxes and no one to point the finger at, no one to prosecute. No one to punish because they couldn't bring them down. This was reality, there was only so much police could do and they failed...again.  
Petrakar sighed. None of his concern. He had a job to do. He jumped, back-flipping into the alley behind him, beyond the flashing lights from the street. The suit morphed, wisping like a ghostly skin from head to toe into normal, casual clothes. Black shirt, ripped dark jeans, a light hooded coat and something he'd never worn before, a leather choker on which a small but notable spider was seated right below his adam's apple. A chain dangled below it like a single strand of web. He stepped out from the shadows. Petrakar walked towards the center of panic as people ran past him, not noticing the young man as he pulled his hood up over his hair. The bodies were left where they were while the police struggled to contain the situation and at the same time arrange pursuits after the upstarts. They didn't see the young man as he stood next to each corpse, staring at each one. His hand moved to his neck every so often. Petrakar finally reached the child, a poor little girl caught in the wrong place and the wrong time. He knelt next to her body, his hand reaching our and pushing a stray bloody strand of brown hair from her face and whispered inaudibly. He reached towards the spider on his neck. Veins, once invisible now glowed sapphire on its thorax, fading back again seconds later just as an officer spotted him.

“Hey! Hey you! Put your hands up and step away away,” the officer said, pointing his gun at Petrakar. Petrakar stood and slowly brought both hands up, stepping back ever so slowly.

“Turn around slowly.” Petrakar was still.

“I said turn AROUND!” The officer was getting jittery now. Petrakar turned his head slightly, glaring over his shoulder at the officer. The stunned cop froze at the sight of his eyes, in one quick motion with his hand, he shot a string of web up high into a building and slipped away, his clothes morphing again into his dark suit.

Another officer jogged up to his partner just in time to see Petrakar swinging from the scene.

“Holy crap, isn't that Spider-man? He's...different,” the man said tipping his cap back, he looked back at the body of the dead little girl, “Why didn't he stop this?”

His partner stayed silent for a moment, the sight of those sad brown eyes as hatred and pain turned them to rust, burned into his memory forever.

“...Because he's given up, that ain't him any more.” 

Petrakar ended up in another alley further downtown, where he could morph his suit into his disguise again. Once the mask retracted he felt hungry and wondered should he go out looking for something to eat, after all it just might drive him insane if he ignored it.  
Even as the night wore on, the city barely slept. And even into the later hours, its less savory residents took to the streets, replacing all the respectable citizens with thugs, whores and scum. Still Petrakar continued, wandering the streets listening, collecting the wisps of wasted lives that were littered everywhere. Sometimes, someone called out to him again and again. Wishing for a time when the hero in a red and blue costume once patrolled the city, helping people when they needed it. Because he could, because he wanted to.  
Petrakar passed by a group of kids sitting on the doorstep of a shabby apartment block. Swapping jokes and smokes. Teasing a slightly more reluctant fellow. One of the kids with a white stick of pot between his lips called out to Petrakar.

“Hey, hey man, you got a light?” Petrakar shook his head as he shuffled over to them.

One of his old habits emerged, unable to resist prying a little, like the nosy Parker he used to be, “Where are your parents?”

“The fuck are you, my babysitter?” the kid with the unlit cigarette spat out as he fumbled around for his lost lighter.

“My Dad's a dick,” a kid dressed in sweats stated casually.

“Haha, my uncle's a bigger dick,” a boy beside him countered, elbowing him.

“Yeah, after he found out there wasn't a will from your dead Mom.”

The sweats kid got a firm punch in the arm for that remark as the other boy glared darkly at him, he grabbed the other by the collar, warning him in low voice, “Watch it, just cuz' we hang out doesn't mean I won't sock you in the face.”

“Whoa, whoa relax, I didn't mean it like that,” the insensitive boy held up his hands, “It's not my fault Spider-man didn't save your mom, okay?!” The kid drew back his fist, his eyes blaring with rage and the other boy flinched in anticipation of the blow. Instead, he was released and they all watched as the boy walked away in grief and anger. Against his better judgement, Petrakar went after him. They had made it a few blocks away before the boy turned back and snarled at him.

“Why the hell are you following me?!”

Petrakar relaxed into a passive stance, “You shouldn't have to suffer alone like this.”

“The hell is it to you?!” the boy spat, but he didn't move to punch Petrakar, just stood there, hands dug firmly into his pockets. A wounded dog. Petrakar approached him slowly, stopping short of him a few inches and sat on the kerb.

“You're right, I'm just being nosy now,” he said smiling sadly as he gazed absently at a scarf on the road, now filthy from being rolled over so many times. The color it once must've been reminded him of his aunt, “But there's no harm in talking to a dead guy.”  
It was silent except for the sounds of the city. Petrakar almost lost in his thoughts again when he sensed the boy taking a seat beside him.

“Literally or figuratively?”

“I don't know, I can't tell any more.” They both stayed silent.

“That's...a bummer.” Petrakar smiled grimly, yeah, he thought, too bad.

“What happened to your parents?” He finally asked. He felt the kid tense up again and for a moment it seemed like he was ready to walk of again.

“I don't know who my Dad is, Mom raised me herself. She...got killed in a crossfire. Where we lived, there were a lot of turf wars,” when the boy felt his chest beginning to ache, he breathed and exhaled heavily, “We were going to celebrate my thirteenth birthday that day when the cops cracked down on some gang. Mom was at the store.”  
“So right after, they got my uncle to take me in, but it's been . All he wanted was some inheritance that didn't exist and when he found out...” The boy went silent, “Most days it's easier to stay out away from him but nobody gets it, what it's like.”

The boy hunched forward, head in his hands, "One year, but it still feels like yesterday when the told me she wasn't coming back...right on my fucking birthday."

Petrakar couldn't help but feel sad for the kid's misfortune and as he thought about what it was like to lose a mother, the memories flooded back so fast his own heart began ache, the way it hadn't since a long long time ago. An ache for that parental love he once thought would be there always, the love that encouraged him to chase a future, a dream despite having to be a hero. Lead his life according to message that his uncle Ben taught him so well. He missed them both dearly.

“What was your mother like?”

“Strong, independent, no matter how bad we were, she would stay positive and say we'll survive.”

“...It doesn't take a scientist to know that your Mom is a rare soul.”

The boy laughed, he dropped his defensive attitude and the walls were finally coming down. It was becoming clear that this was a likeable and trusting person, and wanted badly to live a better life even now in his situation, “You talk weird...yeah she was. The only thing that kept me together was her. And now it's over. I don't even have anything that was hers. Not even her watch.” The boy stopped himself as he realized he was letting on more than he'd intended. Subconsciously, the kid was still fighting for himself, not a whole lot but it counted. He was a fighter, but Petrakar sensed that he was on the brink of losing his resolve, the way he could remember teetering over the edge. Then falling.

They both looked out on the street as busy people continued their ignorant lives, caught up in their own world. Never look down and never looking up.

“She used to say when she shoved the cough medicine in my mouth, 'What doesn't kill you only make us stronger',” The boy grimaced, “Our shitty lives killed her, ironic huh?” 

“Maybe it's about you now.”

The boy turned to Petrakar, perplexed and surprised, “What?”

“She lived life as best she could, now it's your turn,” Petrakar looked him straight in the eye, “You're old enough and seem smart, maybe it's time for you to be in charge of your own life. If you value what your mom believed then follow it, chase a dream, no matter how hard things are.”

The boy was stunned, revelation shone in his eyes, then dimmed as he turned his gaze back on the asphalt, “Then why did Spider-man give up?”

Petrakar felt himself become numb again, but the answer was clear, “I guess, all that responsibility broke him.”

Before the other could say anything, Petrakar jumped to his feet. A small voice distracted him, calling out quiet but clear. His hand instantly reached up to his neck as he turned round to the boy. 

“What's your name?”

“Ross.”

“I hope you're feeling better Ross, I have to go.”

Ross stopped him before he could vanish, “You look familiar, do I know you?" Petrakar nearly forgot, "No, maybe you saw me around on the street." Ross couldn't quite put his finger on it but this young man seemed so familiar, his finger kneaded into his forehead as he tried to think but conceded, "Huh, probably. Will you be around?”

Petrakar couldn't help but give a small smile, “Are you sure you want to tell me other stuff about you?

“Why not? No harm in telling a dead man,”  
Petrakar made his way through the streets, avoiding contact with anyone, the whole time his hand covering the spider attachment at his throat. It had begun to glow again. Petrakar quickly moved to the side, huddling in a quiet corner where no one would hear him talk to the glowing spider at his throat.

“I'm cold,” a little girl's voice sobbed. With a gentle hushed voice, he spoke to the spirit.

“Shh, I know it hurts, it'll be over soon,” he assured the child, “I'm taking you and them away.”

“That person you told me about, is he nice?”

Petrakar paused as his thought almost bordered on more flashbacks then he smiled sadly, “Yes, he's a wonderful person, just very sad.”

“Like you?”

“...Like me.”

“...I'm glad you're still here, Spidey, you'll always be my hero!” the child said, her innocence ringing louder as her voice began to fade once more.

“...I know, I'm sorry.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short and rough comic I finally decided to complete


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His life isn't all that miserable now, only the memories. Life like this is simple, hunt and eat and kill and stay away from the momories. And no matter what, or where he was, Petrakar will never be truly alone because that person would always find him when he needed it...badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Grinding and biting ahead, you have been warned.

He continued to wander the worst part of the city, contemplating. For so many years the ire of society was unrelenting such that he had sworn to indifference and he couldn't think any lower of society but every once in a while, in the unlikeliest of places he'd realized he could not fully forsake them. Why were the people that truly mattered always hidden away where no one could hear them. Petrakar wondered if he had listened to them instead of the rest who did nothing but eat up the hype, could his will have prevailed? Would he still be the friendly neighborhood Spider-man?  
Tonight, however, Petrakar had made a friend and he wondered if 'they' would approve.

Soon as he walked through the filthy streets, crawling with scum and lowlifes all huddled around dying fires and looted throw-aways, the sentiment began to fade once more and disgust began to brew inside. Petrakar rounded a corner into a dark alley. He continued on until he turned another corner, sighting a particularly shady looking trio, he could sense the violence in their blood, They carried knives under their coats. They were looking to draw blood tonight. He turned abruptly, taking a detour down a dark passage. Almost pitch black, any normal person would have to fumble around in order to navigate but his inhuman eyes saw through darkness as well as daylight. A good thing he had the ability, the long passage Petrakar was in was rotten and disgusting, the thought of tripping and falling in here made his skin crawl. He walked on, following the straight narrow path which turned left sharply until he began to see a small glow of light ahead. It was a lamp, hung over a door. Moths hovered around hounding it uselessly.  
As Petrakar emerged from the shadows Petrakar found himself right outside of a back alley nightclub, a single lamp above the door. A few men in dirty jeans and scruffy jackets and a provocatively dressed lady were gathered outside the door, chatting. They stopped as soon Petrakar appeared, eyeing him with suspicion. When he turned his gaze up at them, the corners of their mouths turned up, smirking devilishly at him. Petrakar wondered what kind place this was, not exactly keeping track of where he'd swung to. He needed to find something to eat. He attempted to walk past the group. Suddenly a muscled arm barred his way, inches from his face. His eyes turned to glare at the offender blocking him, a scruffy man probably in his early thirties built like the jocks who used to bully him, leering at Petrakar. His eyes made Petrakar's skin crawl. One of his buddies casually mocked him while the woman rolled her eyes and smirked, calling him a sick pervert.  
“Where are you going, kid?” he asked with an evil grin. 

Petrakar didn't answer instead backing away into the wall. It only made the jerk close off his other escape, now both hands leaning against the brick on either side of Petrakar.

“Why don't we get you a drink down in the club, on me.”

Petrakar stared expressionlessly at him, “I don't drink.”

The group chuckled at his comment.

“What are you sixteen? Seventeen? Come on, don't you wanna break the rules? Take a risk?”

“I take risks all the time.”

The man lowered his head, his face almost nuzzling into Petrakar's neck. Close, so close.

“Then why don't we take a gamble now, have some fun, just the two of us?” he growled lustily as he inhaled the young man's scent.

“Why don't you save that for the woman?” Petrakar retorted motioning at the lady who grinned and shook her head. The group laughed.

“She's taking a day off,” one of the other men said, his hand squeezing her ass which she promptly slapped away.

“I don't swing that way too much but I'm not gonna pass up a pretty little thing like? Besides, she could get some fun out of watching us, don't you think?” Petrakar felt his tongue snake out and drag its way up his neck and along his jaw while one hand grasped him by the thigh and pulled him forward slightly until he could feel the fabric of the denim against him, his groin rubbing against the man's leg. "Ugh, nnn.." he gasped. The friction sent pulses through his body, his traitorous human body. It wasn't enough for him to lose himself, he could still push the guy away. But the man's scent, he was so close Petrakar could smell the musk and cheap cologne, but strongest of all was the scent that ran in rivers under the skin and it was beckoning to his hunger. He gasped, beginning to lose control.

“What if I...mhm...said no?” he uttered pushing at the hard chest with the last semblances of his humanity.

A hand came up and yanked Petrakar's head back by his hair, exposing his throat which the man lapped at eagerly, his tongue and lips leaving a hot trail as he sucked his way down to his collar bone, his tongue dipping into the hollow. “You know you want it.” 

Petrakar had to admit, his urges were beginning to boil over as the man began to thrust against his hip, creating more unbearably hot friction until Petrakar could feel the other man's hardness against him. The hunger was starting to drive him insane. He could feel rough hands pulling and tugging his shirt up and stroking along his body, fingers gliding impatiently over his skin and pulling him even closer. As the pervert continued to do lewd things to him, touching and snaking around his body, tongue trailing over his skin, Petrakar gazed up into the darkness letting his body move, grinding further against the man's heat. His breath coming in gasps.  
In the darkness, the rats scurried and flies swarmed looking for their next meal, In a world were the light-dwellers threw their scraps to them, they whole-heartedly welcomed man's trash. Here monsters lurked as well, where spiders waited in silence for the flies. Their glistening, glamorous traps luring and capturing unsuspecting prey. And once their victims drifted into their web, they would unfurl themselves and creep towards their meal while it struggled uselessly. Those were the slow tormenting predators in the arachnid world. And then there were those struck quickly and without warning while the prey were caught in their most simple traps. So fast, Death would come before realization. And he could feel it.

“Yes, yes I do,” he breathed, grinning hungrily.

Suddenly, his hands reached up around the man's neck and pulled him down towards Petrakar with such strength it took the molester by surprise. Petrakar felt the last fragments of his humanity slip and he bared his teeth. Such sharp teeth, glinting in his feral expression as he hissed and in the last three seconds that followed a collective expression of shock and fear crossed the group. Then his fangs sunk in to the man's shoulders as Petrakar wrapped his arms around him, his legs entwined around his waist in an unbreakable grip. He drank. Fear sent the rest running. The mortal's knees buckled as he grew weak, consciousness fading. Now Petrakar was on top of him, hunched over his gradually cooling body as he continued to drain the man until their was nothing left. Petrakar detached himself from the dry vessel, sitting up. He exhaled. His body still felt hot from the attention lavished on him. Now sated, Petrakar began to rock his hips back and forth, grinding relentlessly into the lukewarm corpse. His head turned to the side falling on his shoulder, gasping and breathing hard. His senses cut through the pleasure, people were coming. Whining quietly, he abandoned his needs and made of into the night. Just as he vanished the local police finally reached the dry husk of a man and stood there scratching their heads and examining the scene. Petrakar watched from a good distance, shielded by a graffiti wall. He could hear one officer reporting it as death by loss of blood, where the blood had gone to he couldn't explain to his superiors. The woman from earlier was with them still trembling in fear as she tried to tell them it was a bloodsucker. But as always they dismissed her as delusional and scared out of her mind.  
No one would believe a someone drained this man like something out of the movies. No one would believe the truth and truth often lay in the unknown just as 'he' always said to Petrakar. It was so much easier to believe in the materialistic lie, mankind is so predictably ignorant. It was almost embarrassing how he once joined in the lie, most of it anyway.  
Petrakar crawled up the wall, transforming into his suit as he reached the top of the building and left the officers to their futile investigation.

Escaping the notice of any passers-by he kept going, leaping from rooftop to rooftop as far as he could go until his body began to give and stopped on the roof of an old brick building. Not checking his surroundings, Petrakar stumbled towards the fire escape, breaking the door in. He continued to make slow progress down the stairs and through what looked like an abandoned motel with dusty unkempt rooms and corridors littered with old fliers and newspapers and other trash. If he had to guess, Petrakar could say that the building hadn't been used for almost a decade from the musty smell that permeated the halls, only the odd discarded syringe gave indication of a more illicit activity.  
No matter, Petrakar thought, this will do and he staggered towards one of the empty rooms. His body felt hot, and was growing hotter still. His eyes were swimming as the need intensified. Finally he made it to the dusty but clean bed and collapsed on to it causing an opaque white cloud to be thrown up in the air. He turned over on to his back and gazed at the ceiling with half lidded eyes.  
This always happened when he got stimulated, getting turned on usually didn't warrant such responses but being touched and explored like that without a doubt always brought him to far to recover on his own. Even remembering it now, the way that man nipped, sucked and licked at his skin was making him crazy. The way his hands trailed down Petrakar's back and cupped his ass and stroked along his thigh. And how, at the very end, Petrakar drained the man of his blood, fuelling his lust. It wasn't the thought of the man molesting him that drove his need, it was the hint of memory, the way 'they' touched him. The way 'they' kissed him. Replacing his despair and loneliness with 'their' passion so he could forget this world. And now, he craved it once more.  
His hands acted on their own, one trailed down his face and fingered along his lips and jaw and the other moved down along his body, causing sparks as it moved along his neck gasping when the tips of his fingers ran over a nipple and his sensitive abdomen, sending waves of pleasure to his groin. The suit, acting as a second skin only served to amplify the sensations, if Petrakar was any normal human, he would've plunged off the edge of pleasure even before his hands could get half way, but his strong, stubborn body prevailed painfully.

“Ngh,” he moaned as his hands reached between his thighs, stroking along them and finally hovered over his erection, touching the tip ever so gently but it was enough to make him see white.

“Please, help me,” he gasped calling out to the shadows. For a moment, there was nothing, just the sounds of his heavy breath and moans. Then the shadows began to swirl. From the corners of the room towards the bed. He sat up, hand still moving, and watched as the shadows licked along his body, relishing the cold caresses as they whispered sweetly to him.

“Petrakar,” a voiced hissed seductively, “Peeeeterrrr.”

He opened his eyes slightly, witnessing the blackness expanding and contracting until from it, a young man emerged. As always, he was beautiful and in Petrakar's state his dark smile made his mind go blank. 

“Ri'hena, you are getting reckless,” he said in a whispering voice. Petrakar didn't care, it was going to happen sooner or later. He lifted his face, craning his neck towards the figure. His expressions begging, wanting, even his suit was shifting, fluttering with desire. The young man smiled and reached a pale hand, caressing the other's face, earning a moan.

“Call out once more, to me, to us.” His whisper filled the expanse.

Petrakar paused, struggling to make his mouth work properly when he finally managed to utter the words in his soulbond tongue, “Q'thil I'hlensa.”

Then Petrakar felt hands pushing him down into the bed, pinning his arms above him as the young man crawled over him, planting a cold kiss on his lips. The shadows continued to dance wildly intensifying as they drifted closer around them. Petrakar became lost in bliss as his body was smothered in many kisses and teeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The words they spoke at the end are taken from my own constructed language, essentially their tongue envokes shadows incorporating a lot of hisses and breath into the pronunciation. 
> 
> Since this fanfic is essentially a chronicle please feel free to leave me some prompts and I 'll see what I can do


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lovely comment left by someone, gave me a prompt. I hope I've carried it out well enough. The story is still set to develop as this alternate universe unfolds. Thanks to Sorrowful_Cheshire for the prompt.

“Wait, please!” the man sobbed, backing away towards the wall, falling to the ground, “I'm sorry, I swear I'll leave her alone, please don't hurt me!”

Where there were shadows two glassy eyes shone in the darkness, advancing but the light seemed to recede, fleeing from the ever approaching figure. The man has just gotten back from the beating he gave his wife, it's his assumption, punishment, karma for his abuse. But he doesn't know.

“Wait, wait, no.”

The man kept pleading and cried pathetically, a man reduced to a child in the face of fear. A petty criminal and abusive on all levels, but that didn't matter, he was given the order and he would carry it out. The black, misty tendrils reached further and the man flinched. He grabbed everything he could get his hands on, an old shoe, a bucket, boxes and broken pieces of wood, hurling it at the advancing shadow. And it swallowed everything. Eventually until there was nowhere he could go, no way of escaping. The figure suddenly surged forward, in less than half a second right in front of the man, a hand, long and jagged like a skeleton's claw wrapping around his filthy neck, slowly lifting him into the air. Black tendril writhing around his grip.

“I didn't do nothing, please!” he gasped, clawing at the cold fingers.

"What you do doesn't concern us anymore."  
"“Tell me, how would you like to die?” The voice whispered, enticing and malicious, echoing in the space between them.

“I don't understand, Spider-man put Venom in the slammer, how did you get out?!”

Suddenly, the grip tightened around his throat and the man scrabbled in panic at the wisps, passing through them while the force continued to constrict, he gasped and his breath hitched. His face was turning from red to purple as the air quickly ran out. The shadows receded revealing a familiar form coated in black, closing in.

“I'm. Not. Venom!” the voice hissed and in his last moments, he realized to his shock who it was.  
No, it can't be, Spider-man doesn't kill, this isn't right. His final thoughts were cut as the black threads lifted him high into the air and an arm, a hand with razor sharp claws extended and pierced his gut in a flash. His body slumped to the ground.  
Petrakar stood silently over the body, blood dripping from his claws. His voice began to whisper the Rite of Reaping. Watching as the stained soul rose and fell on it's phantom knees, still begging to be spared. It screamed as dead hands reached up from a black hole and dragged him below. The shadows stretched even further, a pair of green and violet eyes shining from the within, watching him. He didn't turn as he spoke

“It's done.” 

 They disappeared again.

The sun shone especially hard today and Petrakar hated it. At least now he did. The shadows that reached out from his heart coating him reacted badly to intense light and once in a while even his manifested clothes rippled, alarming the odd passer-by. And he stilled smelled slightly of blood though the suit had absorbed it. If Logan were around, he'd pick him out from a mile away except Petrakar was sure even the gruff man wouldn't like his new self. Mostly he kept to alleys and anywhere with a lot of shade. As of now, he walked through a park aimlessly, keeping under the trees, his black hood pulled forward over his face. At times he could feel other walkers staring at him as he passed by. When he went to sit down on a bench, the lady looked shocked, like she'd seen a ghost. He must've looked pretty bad during the day.  
As he found a seat by the waterfall, he caught sight of his reflection. A handsome but pale, dark face, very much like an apparition stared back, dark circles beginning to form under wide eyes. It was getting worse with time, his whole body was changing with his new self. And soon he probably would become a ghost. How long had it been since he first left this city, this world. A month, a few months? A year maybe a couple of years, he couldn't tell and it didn't seem to matter.  
The woman got up and hurried away leaving Petrakar to sit silently, staring into nothing. Thinking about nothing. Getting so caught up in his mind he failed to notice someone sitting down beside him.

“Hey there!”

Petrakar jumped and looked around, eventually spotting a old man with sunglasses and plenty of laughter lines looking straight at him, unfazed. He stared back speechlessly.

“It's too nice out to be having a bad day don't you think?” the old man said in a very thick New York accent.

“Uh…?”

“You look like you just went to a funeral, without the suit.”

“...Something like that,” Petrakar replied with a weak smile. He didn't have it in him to shoo off a cheery old geezer like him, despite himself. Guess some things never change. The old man gave a nod before apparently turning his attention to something else, removing the comic themed cap from his head and placing it on his knee. Petrakar also turned away, fixing his gaze to the ground. Just another cheerful old man making conversation with anyone he could, he thought.  
"I'm used to being by myself..."  
The cheery old man didn't answer right away and for a moment Petrakar thought to himself, he probably looked like he was being awkward as most kids seemingly are in adolescence. Suddenly the old man leaned towards him a little, pointing a finger in the distance.

“See that kid there, on the swing, think he's playing by himself?”

Petrakar had barely lifted his head before answering curtly, “...Maybe.”

“Well, you might think he is. Look! His parents are pickin' him up. See he's never alone, even when you think so, no one is ever an island,” the old man grasped Petrakar by the shoulder, surprising him, and made a sweeping motion with his hands, “There's always someone sticking it out there for you, no matter who it is or if you are worlds apart. Friends come and go, family is what's important, that's how it works.”

He shook Petrakar slightly, grinning, laughter lines mapped over his face.

“So, something on your mind?”

When Petrakar looked at him like he'd grown two heads and was talking in squabbles the old man barked out a laugh, "Don't be shy now, think of me as yer weird uncle."

Petrakar regarded him and his question cautiously, finally relenting and letting a little of it out, “There were...some people who I thought I could trust, never turned up when I needed them the most. It's changed me in ways I'd never imagined and sometimes I think back and I miss the old days, miss being okay. I don't think I could ever forgive them.” 

The old man sat back, tipping the cap back and let out a puff of breath, "That's pretty rough on a youngster like you."  
Petrakar simply nodded but said no more.

“Well kid, life sucks and not everyone is reliable, we're all people kid and people tend to make a mess, but it don't do anybody good to hold grudges. Whoever those people you're talking about are, whatever happened, they probably didn't mean to hurt you. Yer not alone, kid remember that. Always keep a door open because you never know, someone could come knocking!”

Petrakar looked past him, spotting a pair of grey eyes staring at him through the trees. He locked his gaze with them as he replied, “Yeah, I think someone has.”

“Good to hear, keep yer head up!”

Then the old man held out a hand to Petrakar, who stared at it with uncertainty, before taking it. He shook Petrakar's hand vigorously and replaced his cap, adjusting it before getting up.

“Well, I'm off,” the old man stopped, “Go get 'em tiger!” he said before strolling off.

He left the park, turning out onto a familiar road, an area full of memories. Where he used to hang out with Gwen and Harry. He and Gwen were going steady then and his best friend always had a new girlfriend for the week, these streets were where they would go on a double date. It was kind of funny, seeing a new girl every time they met up when only him and Gwen could know how it would turn out. Sometimes, MJ hung out with them instead. No new girlfriend with Harry, no awkward conversations, just them. A group of close friends, people who knew each other well. And a few blocks down the street was the diner they once frequented after school. Looking in now the memories flooded back like a torrent, at the second table from the window, he could see themselves again, laughing, chatting over pancakes and milkshakes, now it remained empty, at least until a customer took the seat. Petrakar turned away, walking quickly from the diner. He hated it when those memories haunted him, full of reminders of what was lost. It was a bad idea coming down this street, he thought to himself. So he turned off the path away from the glare of the sun and away from memory lane. Petrakar let the black skin morph and spread over him, crawled up a wall and began spinning a black nest where he lay down to sleep.

Life seemed so simple before. When he wasn't Spider-man. When he was still in highschool, being the main target of bullies. It was hard but he was human. Aunt May and Uncle Ben were still there for him, he was respected and admired among lecturers and academic individuals. Then along came a spider and suddenly he took it upon himself to be a hero, the first time he let someone down, he could remember, a tiny girl held hostage. For one second he was afraid and it was enough to get her a bullet to the head. He'd never forget how it all started, how he hated himself for that, for failing. Despite that when both his uncle and aunt found out, they believed in him, convincing him to help people, make the world a better place. He became Spider-man, a hero. One that no one liked because someone with a stupid moustache said so. And yet Petrakar still had Aunt May, Mary Jane, Gwen and Harry to turn to on his bad days. But nothing ever stays alright. Something or someone always has to pay.

Petrakar sat on the highest point in the city, the communications tower. Staring straight out into the horizon beyond the city. The way he does each and every night. But tonight his web was being disturbed. He reached out and held the trembling thread still.

“I'm kinda hurt you'd choose the comms tower over mine, you could still get a great view of New York from there without the cables and girdles, just sleek panelling.”

“If you make it higher, I might consider it,” Petrakar said coldly without turning to look. He felt the heat from the jets glowing lightly on his skin, with a low hum coming from those rocket boots. Tony's armor was improving and later, given enough tinkering, could almost become soundless.

“You finally found me,” Petrakar said.

“Miniature spy bots, small enough to hide in anything, a lot like yours without the spider traits,” Stark said, trailing off as he watched Petrakar rise from his spot like a large black mass, shadows warping around him, “...but I guess you don't use them anymore.”

Then a recognizable voice spoke up, “Word has been spreading, we know it's you Peter.”  
As he looked down, below him stood Captain America, world renowned superhero and super soldier, symbol of the U.S. upholder of law and someone Petrakar once admired. He turned directly at the Captain, the mask that covered his face reacted to his thoughts and pulled back like ghostly fingers, revealing a pale expressionless face. For a brief moment, both Tony and Steve seemed taken aback by this. 

“Christ, that is creepy,” Tony muttered. 

Petrakar said nothing only staring with piercing brick red eyes until Steve began climbing the ladder up to his level. Stark landed behind him and Petrakar did not break his gaze.

“Some say Spider-man is back, other people think you're someone else, dangerous.”

Petrakar scoffed, “Such compliments as usual.”

“Those people, did you do it?” Rogers interrogated, hoping for the best answer.

“Yes.” Petrakar answered without hesitation, proving the soldier wrong. Immediately cutting down his hopes for the ex-hero.

Petrakar didn't hesitate to confirm their suspicions and Tony muttered, dear god, under his breath while Rogers' hand reached up, rubbing over his jaw as he let out a frustrated breath, contemplating what to make of this.

“If this is some twisted revenge, for what happened to your friends and family, you're playing a dangerous game Peter.”

“This isn't a game,” Petrakar retorted.

“You murdered those people, sure yeah, criminals, big and small but still people,” Tony added.

“Vengeance isn't the answer.”

“This isn't revenge,” Parker hissed. The shadows on his body danced dangerously. The Captain seeing this took a step back in caution then took two steps forward. Tony looked like he was ready to fire a laser at some monster.

“Then why are you doing this?” 

“It's my job.”

“Doing THIS won't help anybody, son,” Steve said attempting to call on his patriotic voice, he threw a bunch of papers down mostly headlines on the horrific deaths. Petrakar wouldn't have it.

“Don't call me 'son' not when you never really understood me. You don't get to try that out on me when all I ever was to you was some kid with issues. You can give me a damned speech about how none of this will bring Mary Jane, Harry and my aunt and uncle back or help Gwen recover but none of it matters anymore. Don't you get it Rogers, I'm not part of your perfect little world anymore,” Petrakar kicked the newspapers violently letting them soar off and flutter into the night, then turned to the Captain and Iron man, baring his fangs, Tony shot back in total horror while Steve gaped in shock, “Nothing matters, I only have one simple role, to collect souls whether they like it or not, accept and the transition can be easy, fight and I will cut them up until there is nothing left.”

The shadows twisted and flickered wildly making Petrakar become darker and more indistinguishable in the night as he began to blend in subconsciously. His form became menacing and his eyes blazed in his now porcelain white face like a terrible mask. And it was a frightening sight causing both men to instinctively move into a fighting stance. But Petrakar didn't move, or attack. His eyes returned to their brown hue with a tint of red while the suit remained wildly animated.

“You should take off the suit Peter, this is exactly what happened with the Symbiote, take it off and come back to us. We'll work something out,” Roger pleaded, trying to reach the young man's heart, but it was a futile flame digging aimlessly in an abyss. His heart was closed.

“This isn't a symbiote...it's me,” Petrakar suddenly clawed at his chest and pulled away, an orb of black wisps and red lights streaking from his hand returning to his body seeping in and out of his skin, “Fresh straight from the heart, it beats and moves just as I do. This, is all me.”

"Oh god," he could hear Hawkeye gag behind them.

Petrakar smiled grimly as the wisps licked their around it and flowed to and from him, “You'll never know what it's like to have the whole world hate you because, someone decided it would make a great headline, to be rejected no matter how much you wanted to help. To try and try again and still no one can see you and then lose the only people who ever cared and supported you.” He clenched his hand reabsorbing the essences.

Petrakar turned to look out over the city, a city he once protected with his life, taking a step towards the edge.

“What happened to you Pete? You used to love making jokes and you never gave up, you used to be so alive.”

Petrakar looked back sadly over his shoulder, and could see the regret and sadness in both Tony and Steve's eyes. He gave one last weak smile.

“And now, I'm as dead as my friends and family….I'm not giving up, I've given in,” something large and transparent began to form behind Petrakar as he took another step closer reaching out to the mass, “Everything has a breaking point and now it's all coming around.”

He let himself tip backwards from the tower and began to freefall. Steve and his friend's reaction suddenly slowed and by the time they reacted, Petrakar already jumped off the building. For split second Tony was about to make for it and catch the young man when they both saw the dark shape move and hurtle towards him. Unfurling it's shadowy wings and wrapping around Petrakar. Both hovered upwards, both men watching in shock. Petrakar gazed down upon them and suddenly, he was a whole different creature, no longer the kid, the teenage superhero. The suit surged forward back over his face, remnants of his darkness flowing from and around him like a black aura.

“Spidey?” Tony uttered unwittingly.

“I'm not Spider-man, Spider-man is gone,” Petrakar said, a voice hissed and whispered, loud and clear, 'Shehlod', “I am the Spider in the Shadows, make of it what you will.”

With that, they both disappeared, leaving a chill in the air. And the next day, word ad gotten out somehow and the name Shadow-Spider stuck like a fly to glue paper. And Captain America was forced to confront this matter publicly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I rushed through this one at 5am, don't know what the hell I was doing


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is forced to recall his bitter memories, this time, with an unexpected friend. Now that news is getting around

At the end of a stressful day, the only refuge Steve could find was in the office of J. Jonah Jameson. At least here the press couldn't reach him, not without having to deal with Jameson's temper and he was notorious for it. But it did the job and kept away unwanted visitors  
At least it was a nice room, kind of old fashioned the way he remembered it all the way back during the war when he had to sit for private interviews, with wooden panel walls, roller blinds slightly stained yellow from age. And desk and drawers made of high quality mahogany wood instead of the steel cabinets he saw outside. The room was slightly unkempt with papers and various stationary strewn about. The smell of coffee, newspapers and cigars filled the small space, vaguely reminiscent of that day, must've been around May 1940, he hadn't been told that the interviewer was a heavy smoker and smoking bans didn't exist making it as common as having a car then. If it wasn't for the super serum giving him extra resistances, he would have been hacking his lungs out. But oddly, it was comforting, and Steve needed it. He'd been so tired and stressed that his whole body tensed for the whole day and he almost felt like the scrawny young man before his augmentation again. Seeing Peter again for the first time in a long time would've been great, but his new look was terrifying. When he got back, he couldn't sleep. Not without seeing Parker in the darkness, like an apparition burned into his eyelids. So he spent the whole night and morning without sleep and he suspected Tony, no less creeped out, suffered the same but he hasn't called yet. Pepper did notify Steve about paying Tony a visit later on his request, after his ordeal. God, he forgot how much he hated press conferences, how did Tony deal with this daily?  
As he waited, Steve spotted the pictures, posters of Jameson's favorite news clippings framed on the wall. Mostly family photos, some staff pictures and certificates and awards that the man proudly hung up in his office. But they didn't make up much, and the walls were still a tiny bit bleak when he noticed a numerable amount of publishings all verbal attacks on Spider-man. Now all of them were stripped down from the walls and left in a pile. Steve rose from his seat and looked through them, carefully going through each frame, common words that popped up were one even labelled Spider-man as an immature amateur, Steve chortled at that. It must've taken a lot of effort to come up with that line, he thought.

“Ah, you found my uh...collection,” a voice behind him said. Steve turned around abruptly just as Jameson was shutting the door.

“Jameson, I didn't hear you come in.”

“Just call me John, you don't have to be formal about it.”

“Oh, sure, sorry.”

Jonah gestured for Steve to sit as he took his own seat behind his desk. Opening the top drawer and pulling out a cigar. As he was about to light it, he glanced at Steve with a questioning look, Steve nodded in approval and he proceeded to light the cigar.

“Not that I can blame you, you were raised up as an upstanding citizen, right?”

Rogers leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees,“My parents had values, yes.”

Jameson gave a curt nod, “Are you sure you don't,” he began to say, gesturing to his cigar again, in case it bothered the Captain, he'd need to stub it out.

“Oh no, no, I'm fine, if anything it's nice to have a little sense of the old times.”

“You sound like you're a hundred years old.”

Steve gave a small chuckle, “Technically, sir, I would be.”

Jameson smiled biting down on his cigar, “Of course you would.”

Jonah let out a puff of smoke, high into the air watching as it rose slowly expand and dissipate into an invisible fog pulled towards the air vents.

“You're collection was, interesting.”

“Ha! You think so do you? I swear there's more in one of those boxes even my wife thinks I'm obsessed. And she's only seen some of it.”

“I can see you love your job,” Steve smiled.

Jonah let out a hearty laugh, “Love it? Adore it! If you ask me I couldn't imagine doing anything else, run for president, sure, I hope it's by monthly contract,” Jonah let out another puff of tobacco smoke, “And temporary. I operate the press, not jumps hoops with it.”

“I should thank you actually,” Steve started, attempting to gesture his gratitude, “For the trouble of letting me hide out here for a bit, I don't think I could've taken another moment of this afternoon.”

“Nonsense, it's no trouble at all. Gives me a reason to yell at people,” Jonah puffed, “Having to stand up there and answer those questions, even my damned meds won't save me from them or them from me once I'm off my rocker. I could make another joke about senior citizens on the podium but that wouldn't be very civil of me...ha, me, civil.”

“Not at all, I have no skill at wits. I appreciate having someone else make the jokes.”

“Yeah?” Jameson fell silent, staring at the pile of headline clippings. He reached forward and pulled his favorite one out, 'SPIDER-MAN, A PUBLIC MENACE' He sat back into his chair and stared at it for while, Steve watching in silence.

“He made better jokes than this old nut, hate to admit it but all the humor I have is pure cynicism. Obnoxious is the word, of course, no one has the guts to say that to my face...Will you look at that,” Jonah said holding an excerpt and photo up of Spider-man and Daredevil talking, the young hero comfortably stuck upside down to a pole while Daredevil was grinning at something Spider-man said, the headline read, 'Red team besties?' written by another more contemporary style press company, “I completely forgot about this, rarely see that guy crack a smirk let alone look like he's enjoying himself.”

“Why do think you did it, I mean write about him,” Steve asked.

“You mean label him a threat and a freak?”

Steve grimaced at the words, still trying to adjust to the harshness of modern slang, “Yes.”

“Oh I don't know, I could give you multiple guesses, it's my job, I thought I was doing the public a favor by making him a scapegoat or damn, I just thought it was fun finally letting some steam off this way,” Jonah sat forward in his chair, “But if you really want to know, it was…mostly out of selfishness.”

“Selfishness?”

“You see, in my head, he shouldn't be in this business. Everyone can tell he's only a kid, probably would be still in school now. And kids like him, they don't take things too seriously, not like real heroes such as yourself,” Jameson said motioning to Steve's uniform, “Cops, Doctors busting their asses and sanity trying to get order around here, hell even those mutants, who were they again, X-men? I gave them more respect than him, Spider-man. this, kid, in all tights swinging around and treating it all like it's nothing,” Jonah got up from his seat and turned to look out the window behind him.  
“What about the rest of us, no powers and getting old and outdated working for this city. And all I could think was, Spider-man is a glory hogging nutcase in tights. At least that's what I thought.” He took a long, hard drag out of his cigar, trying to hide the hitch in his voice.

“Only a week ago, I bothered to read back over the stories that people wrote, that I wrote. He saved a lot of people with his ass on the line everyday. I know there are people like you, also putting yourselves in danger every time something big decides to eat up the city. What was it, the last major incident, some Russian ploy to takeover America?”

Steve nodded, “They called it operation Wipeout,” he smirked, “They were planning to wipe the continent clean state by state.”

“HAHAHA! Classic, that'll be the joke of the century. At least you and the avengers were there to deal with it, probably a real headache.” 

“It's what we chose to do.”

“Exactly the same thing that webhead said. 'Protect those who can't protect themselves' what he said last time I gave him a public lashing. I thought he was just reciting off a book he picked up from a flea market or something, I didn't take him seriously...”Jameson drifted off, puffing on the cigar now the size of his forefinger. “I should have, the way I would with you, or your team Street level hero? Sure, so's the Daredevil guy, just a lot more annoying once he starts yappin', but a hero.”

“I worked at this for a long time, been through really hard years and I've never seen anyone like him. He reminded me of myself, long time ago when I was in his shoes. Inexperienced but he had heart, a lot of it.”

There wasn't a lot Steve could say, for the two of them. Nothing that could ease their guilt or make them feel better about Peter. Seeing him again after all this time, like this, hit the nail hard. The person whom world laid their blame on, rejected him because everything about him screamed a kid and when thing's went wrong he was the target for the city's troubles. But he never let up, not even when the Avengers turned him away he never stopped helping because his parents, his Aunt and Uncle put all their love into this boy, teaching him what makes a person a hero, even when they were nothing special. When they seemed to be nothing special.

“ _I remember my Dad telling me before he and mom left, that last night, 'Listen Petey, it's hard to say this to you and you might not get it now but you will when you're older. Mom and I both know you're special Life is going to be hard, it always is, like being caught up in the sea and bigger fish have it harder. You'll have big responsibilities, but no matter how hard those waves come on or how harsh the world seems, never give up. Never stop seeing the beauty of life, protect it with everything you've got 'cause without it, the world will truly be a dark place' and that was the last time I ever saw them both, but I never, ever forgot it and my Aunt and Uncle didn't either,_ ” Peter recalled to Steve one night as they sat on the edge of the Avengers tower.  
That day, after a battle that took the Avengers and a portion of the Avengers Academy and even other superheroes like Spidey to stop another alien attack, they'd fought long and hard together. Of course, he never stopped making light of the situation especially when Johnny Storm was there, so throughout the battle, it was constant alien jokes. But that night, he saw that underneath the fun-loving nature and jokes, was a sincere young man with a big heart and strong will to do right by everyone. There he was pouring himself out confessing to him his secret, and how he felt about it all.  
To Steve, he could've mistaken this boy in red and blue outfit for a child in a costume party and yet he, for someone so young, knew how much of a burden being a hero was, and still took it all, at face value. But that day, Peter came to him with a premonition, right out of the blue.

" _Please,_ " he gasped after swinging all the way, " _I know you think I'm just some kid and that's why you won't let me join you, but I know something is wrong._ "

" _I'm not saying I don't believe you, I'm saying that it may not be as bad as you think._ "

" _It's going to get worse fast, I know it!_ "

" _How do you know?_ "

Peter had gone silent, and Steve began to realize that he was acting on a feeling, but without hard evidence he had nothing to tell.

" _Look Peter, I know you're worried about this...feeling you have but we're all taking risks and doing nothing won't help._ "

" _Hey Cap, we need to move out, now!_ " Hank called into his communicator.

Suddenly, Spidey had reached out to grip his arm, his hand seemed tiny against him, " _Please, don't go down there..._ "

Steve brushed him off, " _Sorry kid._ "

Rejecting him that time, was the hardest thing Steve could have ever done but a soldier doesn't show what he feels. No one on his team who was there, could've guessed the Captain, no sooner than that would regret his own words. 

It turned ugly very quickly, just as Peter had said it would. An upstart of an rebel organization had planted a bomb in upper Manhattan where the densest population of commuters traveled through, set to explode should their plan go awry. There was a shootout between the police and terrorist, Gwen and MJ were caught in the crossfire. May and Ben had rushed to the scene for the girls just as they were pulled out and being rushed to the nearest hospital when the Avengers arrived. The rebels panicked and detonated the bomb, both Peter's Aunt and Uncle were caught in the blast. The ambulance MJ was in collided with a car before it collapsed with the bridge. Only Gwen made it out but the new of what happened and her injuries traumatized her for life and she was admitted.  
That same week, when the man behind the group, a corrupt politician hoping to instigate chaos for his own benefit paid of the court to overrule the incident. Harry, some classmates and a others who knew May and Ben well joined in a protest which turned in a riot. Harry was shot dead in the confusion. Steve grimaced. If they hadn't been hasty, if they'd been careful then so many people would've lived, Peter's Aunt and Uncle would still be alive, his friends would still be alive. If he'd listened then one thing wouldn't have led to another. But he was too stubborn and everything snowballed beyond control. For weeks after, Steve couldn't face his team let alone Peter. He thought the webslinger would come back to yell at him maybe pick a fight, hell Steve would if it was him. But Parker was nowhere to be found. Jameson, unsurprisingly reported it as a success in getting rid of 'The Menace' and for weeks after there was no sign of him, until that night  
...God it haunted him so.

“So he came back,” Jameson said gruffly.

“Not for you I can assure you.”

“Ha! Would've been nice, been a while since that menace last bothered me with his quips.”

“It would, but I doubt he would crack a joke, he's not...the same anymore,” Steve said, his voice lowering to a mutter.

“I know,” Jameson said regretfully picking up and throwing today's paper on the desk in front of Rogers, “I had to write the article.”

It was today's front page by demand, a clear picture of Peter in his dark suit taken probably from some bystander below and sent to the Daily Bugle. From this angle he looked menacing, a creature out of a nightmare floating in the air looking out condescendingly over the world, his eyes glowing in the night. Meeting him last night felt unreal, like a bad dream. Different was a poor way to describe him.

“I've never been afraid Jameson, but seeing him was like meeting fear. You'd think after all the terrorists and strange things I've dealt with, I'd seen it all but, Peter...” Steve paused, trying to put the feeling into words, “It was like talking to a ghost, an angry one.”

“I don't believe in ghosts and supernatural, Steve.”

“I didn't either.”

Jameson turned back to the window, his face blank and thoughts turning circles. Ash dropped from the tip of his wasting cigar, turning black as it hit the cold windowsill. Steve let out a pained sigh as he leaned forward with his head in his hands, “It didn't need to turn out like this, he didn't deserve to go through it,” Steve stared at the image of Peter no longer the lively, friendly Spider-man with regret haunted by that last night, “He trusted me, needed us as friends and I failed him.”

Jameson stood silently, watching the sun begin to lower itself in the sky, turning it red and gold and casting a dull glow over the city.

“We all did, Rogers, we all did.” God he needed a drink. He took out a bottle of his finest and began pouring a cup for himself, then presented an empty cup to Steve, “Would you like one?”

Rogers refused politely, “Thank you but I've got an appointment with Stark, and it's going to involve a lot of drinks.”

 

Cold, icy air hit his skin, gently flowing around him as Peter stepped through the door, his clawed feet crushed the bones beneath him as he entered a dark world. Night loomed over the black, misty swamps and plains that sloped upwards, skewered by snowy glacial mountains against the dark sky. The moon, this harsh world's only light remained fixed over the tallest peak, changing phases like a ghostly orb rotating about itself. He dug his claws into the soil beneath him tracing small patterns in it experimentally, then stopped to breath deeply. A slight musty scent with grassy tones and a strong woody smell permeating the air around him and calming effect on him. This place was so much better than the polluted city it had taken him a bit of time to call this his home since his...induction.  
He groaned, as the strain racked through his aching muscles. Talk about awkward, he hadn't expected to meet the Captain or Tony again for that matter. After such a long time, he didn't think anyone would come looking for him, that's what happens to ex-heroes like him, they fade into obscurity. But meeting them both again was quite a surprise. Peter contemplated this. Maybe he should've been a little nicer.

“Ugh I hate awkward reunions,” he muttered, “Why did he think it was a good idea for me to go back.”

Peter began to walk through the swamps, soon greeted by the hisses of huge snake, scorpion and spider surrounded by many smaller spiders making their way slowly towards him. Such a pleasant reception. The Scorpion clicked impatiently at him.

“What? I came back like you asked.” The Scorpion made a hissing sound, louder this time, trailing off in a serious of clicks.

“ _We have rules for getting too close to them. Especially when you knew them well._ ”

“It's New York, it's hard not to be seen.”

“ _More excuses?_ ” the spider hissed softly. Parker could picture him grinning mockingly at him if he weren't in eight-legged form.

The Snake curled up around Peter's legs, slithering up his body and hissed into his ear, “ _Welcome back_. He smiled slyly and wrapped an arm around it stroking it's white scaled body softly as it coiled around him. Insatiable as usual, he thought. His other hand reached out to the other two.

“Time to go?”

One of the Spider's leg reached out as well touching his hand, then turned back facing toward the high peak, “ _He's waiting._ ”

He walked with them, climbing the steep mountain right up to the top where they vanished into thin air.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the most cryptic Spider I've come to know, seems like he's not someone from Queens anymore. But I'm not apologizing for him, Peter, you're starting to wear too much black!

Johnny was having a string of bad days, actually, he couldn't remember the last time he wasn't. A year was a long time to be having continuous bad days. He stalked into the Baxter Tower main room, his head literally steaming. If he didn't learn to control his hot-headedness, this side effect might light something up soon and it won't just be him. His sister, Susan strode into the room after him, close behind her was her husband Richard and Ben. She was mad, really mad.

“What the hell, Johnny! Are you out of your mind?!”

He didn't answer, he wasn't listening, at least trying not to.

“What were you thinking, you could've killed him!”

“Looter and his goons are just low-rate thieves, he is alive isn't he? I just singed him a little,” Johnny snapped.

“Singed? SINGED?! Johnny you gave Looter second degree burns.”

“Okay so, I burned him a little. It's not like that guy is missing arms or legs.” God he needed a drink, Johnny thought and turned on his heel for the kitchen. Richard stood and watched the heated exchange with concern but unable to figure out to diffuse the situation. Ben, as always never bothered with sibling disputes so he plopped heavily onto the couch.

Sue crossed her arms, brow knitted together in frustration at his attitude, “Over seventy percent of him, Johnny, that's overkill.”

Johnny pulled out a beer from a pack that had Ben's name on it and cracked it open. He gulped it down at a terrifying pace, coughing violently as the bitter liquid flowed in his mouth. God, that was awful.

“Hey, that's mine, flame brain!” Ben yelled from his seat.

“Johnny, you don't normally drink,” Sue added.

“Yeah? Well I'm long overdue, so deal with it,” he shot back, and returned to chugging the alcohol down like bad medicine. His sister was clearly getting tired of his childish attitude as she felt a migraine forming between her eyes. Her hand habitually reached up to knead the bridge of her nose.

“What happened out there? You don't cooperate any more, no more like you cooperate less now, you're always upset, always angry and now, your powers are getting out of control. Johnny answer me, what happened to you?” Sue tried pleading with him, to get him to open up. Deep inside, he wanted noting more than to tell her how much he was hurting, how much he missed that cheeky brat that used to stick around literally, but grief like this doesn't last this long with friends, it was so much more complicated than that and he was unable to confess this to his sister. So he ignored her, and it annoyed her even more. 

“You're dismissed from further missions,” she declared, Johnny glared at her, “Until you deal with this...this problem of yours, you can forget about coming with us. You're lucky he's still alive or the consequences would be much harsher.”

“Look will you just leave me alone?! Maybe jerks like him deserve it, maybe it'd be better if he did died,the world would be one bad guy less!”

Susan was shocked into silence. She gaped at him, her hand raised almost to her mouth as if to cover it. Reed, was as equally shocked. Ben had turned around,' attempting to say something but his mouth simply opened and closed. They realized, he wasn't being sarcastic or cocky, he had lost all composure  
Johnny realized what he'd said but he couldn't take it back or apologize, his pride wouldn't allow it.

“Johnny...”

“I need to be alone,” he muttered then walked quickly into his room where he paced back and forth. Johnny could feel a migraine coming on as he kneaded his forehead. He didn't really mean what he said but it must've scared them all. It was like he was changing for the worse. He was scared too, scared he wouldn't be himself. But here nothing and no one could get him through this, not even Peter. Every time he closed his eyes he could only see Peter's form fading in and out of his mind's eye. Memories of them flashing past. 

“Fuck!” He grabbed the closest thing he could get his hands on and hurled it at the wall. An unsuspecting lamp. It combusted just as it left his grasp and smashed loudly against the paint. Leaving a black mark, setting fire to the corner of the deep green rug where it fell and landed on the ground.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Johnny stamped frantically at the flames. Finally, the flames burned out and he collapsed onto his bed. Even staring up at the ceiling was difficult, he needed to be outside anywhere but in this cramped room.  
He slid the window open. Who cares if they find out, he needed to breath, to fly a bit. As Johnny's whole body was engulfed in fire he let the energy surge and propel him out the window at high speeds. And he flew off, all around the city, soaring aimlessly above the streets. Some people who spotted him called out to him, screaming his name but he ignored them all. He was in no mood to greet fans.  
He kept going until night had fallen, and a cold night it was. Thoughts and memories of the two of them flashed in his mind. Peter always complained about cold nights like these, but he refused to stop patrolling the city. Those days, Johnny had become a welcome relief and he let the webslinger warm himself on his flames, and soon, they'd actually, started cuddling together. The excuse was, it was more effective that way without Johnny having to burn the concrete and bricks black. But along the way, Johnny began to notice just how small Spidey really was, and soft. Troubled by those thoughts, he'd push them away.  
So much time had passed. Nights like these were so, lonely.  
Johnny huddled up on himself for the hundredth time, he felt cold under the flames.  
If only he hadn't had that fight with Peter that day his whole world crashed down, if only Johnny had listened for even one minute, he'd still be here. 

 

Snow crunched underneath as Peter walked on and here was just as much Snow and ice inside the palace-like establishment as there was outside. And just as cold. The whole realm worked as it was designed, where shadows loyal to their lord lived, waiting for the next order. It was dark and melancholic. The Palace was even more so, with icy stone walls dripping with freezing water and black icicles hanging from the ceiling where the water ran down from the top. The exterior wasn't refined or fancy, just a large black mass that rose and stabbed its icy cold spines into the sky. His comrade told him about this place when he first awoke here not too long ago. This was a separate reality accessible only to them and those with permission, and was written in tales and legends throughout the many places he'd appeared in. Peter was quite surprised and curious to hear of them, he wasn't aware there were alternate worlds and dimensions. Hyesha lived for so long and in so many worlds that collectively, those who knew this place wrote it down in legends as the Palace of Tears and he, the Prince. The title was not to his own, to him it was simply an escape, so he could get away from the suffering and corruption of man. Surprisinginglys his comrade told Peter, that he was once human, just like the rest of them. To Peter's disappointment, he'd never seen this person's true face or, as he was told, heard his real name. Only every so often, he'd hear his sombre voice speaking to him that gave away the despair, but other than that, Peter knew little about him.  
He tread carefully to the side of the basin of water, glancing curiously around.  
Peter usually stayed at the bottom of the mountains where the tall gnarled trees were. That was where he liked it. And he was still very new to this mysticism that came with his transformation. Even back then, he'd brushed with myths and magic with much scepticism. This temple or palace, was brimming with it, it had the strongest concentration of this energy. It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before. Water gathered from the tips of large icicles, razor-sharp, fell into the pool. As Peter stared into the blackness, he wondered what kind of person Hyesha used to be, powerful and gifted but so very sad as if he longed for something. The pool began to clear a little, the rippling outline of a young boy danced below the surface. A life of normality where he had friends and family, which quickly spiralled into chaos as death and despair polluted the pristine image. So much death..

“That is where our stories are collected,” a voice which echoed behind him said, Peter turned around as if he'd been caught doing something suspicious. He suddenly felt as if he shouldn't have looked. 

A young man appeared out of the shadows, someone he didn't recognize but he was beautiful, more than anyone he'd seen before. His physique slid more to the feminine side but was still very much man. His black outfit clung tightly to his body like a simple leather body suit while a ripped cloak hung loosely from his shoulders. His soft face was framed by short neck-length hair that cascaded over the right side of his face. It shone a dark blue hue as he stepped out of the shade, his glaucous gray eyes sharp against the shadows.

“Every single soul, man, woman, monster and beast, has a story to tell, and when they pass on, it stays here with us. Their knowledge and memories gather in this place,” he smiled stepping towards the pool beside Peter, “You can see them here, look, it's yours.”

That instant, the young man pointed towards the pool and Peter's gaze automatically followed in his direction. And as his eyes fell upon the dark waters, the surface rippled and changed, calling to him pulling him in. Then the world around him bleached white.

*****************************************************

“Pete, Peeete, wake up!”  
Someone was calling to him, and his whole body protested as he fumbled through his foggy brain trying to see. 

p>“You don't want to be late for school, especially when you have a special event today.”

__

“Huh, what is that?” Peter mumbled lazily.

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“Tech fair or whatever you call it.”

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“Oh crap!” Peter immediately shot up from the bed and darted towards his closet, the door slightly ajar. The clothes that were crammed carelessly into the small space began to tumble out like an avalanche of shirts, sweaters and pants. Uncle Ben laughed as he hastily picked them up threw out a few choice outfits and crammed them all back in.

__

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“You need to tidy up your room or we might lose you in the mess.”

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“Har de har har, I'll give you a call when that happens,” Peter shot back as he quickly yanked off his shirt and began to dress himself. Uncle Ben never failed to deliver the morning wit, the tossing of lines back and forth made Peter's days so much more enjoyable, at least more than school. And he's always had it hard even from kindergarten. Back then it was Dad who encouraged him each day to plough on and believe himself. Uncle Ben and Dad were so alike, they really were brothers. Peter suddenly felt a pang in his chest and turned to see Uncle Ben still grinning happily at him, he had the urge to say it.

__

“Uncle Ben,” he began, taking a deep breath he threw his arms around his uncle, “I'm so glad you're here.”

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His uncle seemed a little surprised. Then his eyes softened and he gave his lonely nephew a loving pat on the back, “I always am when you need me. Even when I'm not here in person all you need to do is remember me and your Dad and BAM! We'll be right beside you all the way.”

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“You do remember I am sixteen now, right?”

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“Oh sorry junior, habit. I keep remembering when I had to say that before you left for kindergarten,” Uncle Ben laughed.

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“You just don't want me to grow up do you, what about all the responsibilities of being adult?” 

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Uncle Ben laughed and put a hand on his nephew's shoulder, “You're not going to be just any adult, you're special and I know it and it's only natural that we worry because it's going to be hard sometimes. I know you have the heart for it, you can change people, but if you ever need someone to back you up, we'll be with you all the way,” Uncle Ben got up from his seat, rustling Peter's hair, “Still, your aunt and I miss watching you waddle through the hallway in your diapers.

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Peter grinned, giving his uncle a light punch on the arm.

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“Ack! Jeez you're getting stronger by the day, we're going to have to change your breakfast.”

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“Right, sorry, misjudged the application of force in my punch,” Peter gave an awkward smile. He still hadn't told his Aunt or Uncle about his 'awkward' situation and he was still having trouble controlling his new abilities. Peter quickly stuffed his books into a scruffy backpack and made his way downstairs into the hallway, setting his bag by the door. As he looked up he spied on May and Ben discussing something as his aunt plated out some waffles. They looked peaceful and happy. And he had no right to trash their happiness, so he was careful. He couldn't let anyone find out and attract attention to himself or people could start thinking he was a mutant and stir up trouble or worse the police might come knocking. He couldn't put Uncle Ben or Aunt May through that.

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“Peter, breakfast is ready,” Aunt May called out.

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“Coming.” 

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School was far more crowded in certain places today especially the main hall. Not a big surprise given that today, it was Science Fair Day and professors and budding scientists were gathering from all corners of the campus. Adding to that, attendance from students was compulsory with the promise of extra credit even if they just visited. So here was Peter, crammed into the moderate room, trying to set up a small display in his allocated slot. His project on, creating a stable substance that repels contact with all other substances and surfaces; and an unstable substance that clung to everything through the exchange of molecules and on other matters, utilising a small energy to generate a force large enough to move small objects by way of electromagnetic waves. There was a lot of equipment he needed, most of them in courtesy of the schools special lab rooms not accessible by students. Peter was given special permission as top academic student. As he busied himself with putting up the banner and the equipment, he didn't notice tiny footsteps running towards him until a pair of hands grappled Peter around the neck. His balance was toppled and he fell forward a little, his hands instinctively reached forward for the table to steady himself.

__

 

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“Peter!” a cheery voice giggled into his ear.

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“Jenny! What are you doing here,” he choked out in surprise, struggling as he turned to see a chirpy little girl grinning madly at him. She looked like she was having the time of her life already.

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“Our whole class is on a science field trip, remember?” she said pointing to her class that had just arrived slightly earlier than planned, “You dummy.” 

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Peter chuckled messing up the twelve year old's hair, luckily it was cropped short and free of clips and bands or she'd kill him for ruining a girl's hard work. Still she thumped him in the chest.

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“I missed you this morning on my way to school,” he said , noting that he failed to see his neighbor the same morning. Usually Jenny is out earlier by a little since her school day starts earlier than his.

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She hopped from one foot to the other, tongue sticking out while she grinned cheekily, “I was a late today, slept in.”

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“What's this, you sleeping in?” Peter teased as he turned his attention back to his desk to fix some of the flasks that had shifted from their place.

__

“Oh come on, it's just one day, I was really psyched up about today I couldn't sleep last night,” she protested, Peter laughed in response as he brought the finishing touches to his science stand, Jenny watched with curiosity, “Whatcha doin here?” she asked as she stood on her toes to peer up at the equipment.

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He pulled over two chairs for them both, “Well,” he began and explained to the grade schooler the equipment and layout, and his idea, giving her a flash course on the basic theory behind his experiment and then proceeded to give her a demonstration. She watched with amazement as he mixed some substances and did a quick test on various object, even allowing her to do some herself. Then his theory of waves in which he made a small object move without physical contact, she clapped excitedly. They were having so much fun, tucked away in their own spot, everyone seemed to disappear from the main hall.

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“I know what I want to be now, I wanna be a scientist!”

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“It isn't that simple you know, you have to work for it,” Peter said.

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“I will cause it's my dream to do amazing things with science and help people.”

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Peter chuckled, “That's the spirit.”

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Suddenly a deep and not too intelligent voice was heard laughing mockingly behind him, “Hey, Puny Parker, aren't you too old to be playing around with grade schoolers?”

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Peter turned around to face his nemesis, yet again surrounded by his goons who joined in with the bullying, he stared icily at the jock, “It's what most people call 'neighbors' Flash, not that you have any.”

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“Yeah whatever, I got better things to do that watch you and your girlfriend,” Flash said, giving Peter a heft shove right off his seat. Jenny immediately jumped off her chair and kicked him in the shin.

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“Ow! Damn brat.”

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“Leave him alone, you dumb bully!”

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“What's going on here?” One of the professors in charge of managing the event came over to investigate the commotion. Flash muttered something offensive under his breath and quickly made a break for it, it wasn't as if he could accuse the young girl of assault when he had started the mess right where everyone had seen. As he retreated, Jenny turned back to help Peter up. The professor sighed, a look of annoyance came over him as she explained to him what had happened. Peter tried to brush it off.

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“It's nothing I can't handle.”

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“It's not what you should have to deal with on a daily basis, Parker, I'll speak to Thompson as soon as I can,” he said as he patted the boy on the shoulder and returned to helping the last of the setup, “Good work on your project by the way.”  
The Science fair breezed on by with people making various presentations, some talks by renowned professors and practitioners and researchers specializing in the sector. Peter attended them mostly with Jenny beside him to explain what they were saying on simpler terms. She definitely looked like she was having fun.

__

Later that day, they decided to walk home together since they lived practically across from each other, the passed by a small park and playground. Jenny was suddenly quite taken with it and persuaded Peter to join her with quite a lot of begging and for about an hour she ran around still full of energy.

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“Aren't you a little too old for this,” he said.

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She grinned mischievously at Peter, “My birthday isn't until March, I've still got a lot of time.”

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Peter rolled his eyes and joined her at the swings, he definitely was too old to be swinging but still, he was relatively quite small for his age. They swung together, watching the sky as the clouds passed by lazily. Eventually, Peter wasn't bothered to swing any more and let his feet dangle and drag him to a stop. He sat silently gazing at the sky, lost in his own thoughts. He still hadn't told a single soul about his powers yet, Jenny included. It wasn't too much of a problem since he didn't have many friends. The hardest part was trying to keep it secret from his Aunt and Uncle. He contemplated confessing it to Jenny with the hope that the twelve year old wouldn't accidentally let it slip.  
Peter turned his gaze to the ground. His body seemed to grow cold from the idea. They may be close neighbors and they knew each other for four years but some things just can't be let out of the closet, and even he couldn't trust himself with such a secret, a simple slip of the tongue could mean disaster. It was dangerous as much as it was fun having spider powers. He began to wonder if he should try finding a cure instead, rid himself of the hassle before it got out of hand.  
Jenny must've spotted his troubled look as she spoke up, “Hey, you okay? You haven't been looking so good since your trip last week.”

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“Huh, trip?”

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“Yeah, you know, the one owned by some big science company, Ego-Erotech or something.”

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“Ergovision Tech Industries.”

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“Yeah that one, I'm still surprised you haven't sued them yet.”

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“Uh sue them for what, being sick that day?” Peter didn't even mention the spider bite which had caused him to collapse that day. Something at the back of his mind nagged at him whenever he thought about reporting the spider bite. Oh sure, he'd thought, of course someone is going to suspect you now have spider powers because you got bitten by a spider, in a science lab. What are the odds?  
But in the end he didn't the guts to mention it, not even now. And Jenny would just get madder

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“I dunno,” Jenny shrugged, she stared at him Peter “You've just been so...jumpy lately.”

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Peter made a bashfully sorry face to which Jenny laughed. Peter glanced at his watch, making a comment about getting home late, Jenny didn't feel like getting up yet. So he let her sit there for a while longer while they chatted. Finally she got off and Peter had just turned away when a bright plastic ball rolled into her view. A boy chasing after it. Not thinking she went after it as well, intending to retrieve it, but failed to notice as it rolled out onto the road and she followed it. Just as Jenny picked up the yellow, star studded ball, Peter had turned to see a car speeding straight in her direction, the driver busy looking down at his phone.

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“JENNY!” he screamed, she looked up too late, there was no way for her to get out of the way in time, as her whole body froze in shock like a rabbit in the headlights. His whole body shot forward to reach for her. He couldn't push her out of the way, the vehicle was already too close, but he could...his feet were suddenly planted firmly in the kerb. The voice in the back of his mind warning him again. If he stopped the car, everyone in the area would see, his...secret would be out. His mind went blank, and he stared wide-eyed in horror at the twelve year old, staring back at him in eyes wide with fright. One thought only.

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“JENNY!”

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One moment she was there, the next, the side of the car as sped on, ploughing into her. And even worst was, she was under it, knocked down and pulled under, the mass of metal and engine ground her into the asphalt. And it didn't stop until the driver heard her small body crunch sickeningly beneath the wheels and jolted the car. Everything...seemed to stop, time halted and it was just them, the car, Peter and Jenny's broken body lying lifeless and bloody on the road.  
Everyone but Peter could hear himself screaming in anguish, there was only one thought that dominated all his thoughts and senses, he was utterly powerless.

*****************************************************

Peter jerked out of the vision, breaking into a cold sweat that froze on his skin. His breath coming in great big mists. He looked around. He found himself propped up by the pool which now was empty and the one who was here earlier had vanished. Peter was completely alone. Whoever the boy was, he was gone with the nightmare. That was something he hadn't dared relive for a long time, and watching it play out again was like getting kicked in the chest by a horse. That day marked his beginnings as Spider-man, when he had the choice to save her but let his fear catch him out. He hesitated. And the day he watched them lower her into a hole in the ground, he'd swore not to let this happen again to anyone, anywhere. He wouldn't fail again Jenny was the sole reason he became hero, so no one else would have to lose their life because he did nothing. But the irony was, he couldn't even save his own family and friends, so why bother trying any more?"  
The echo of footsteps that were barely audible to the average human ears, caught his attention and he leaned forward at the ready, squinting into the darkness. The footsteps were replaced by a recognizable presence which grew stronger yet. Again, he never bothered to hide it outside of a hunt.

________________________________________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Darrian,” Peter called. A figure stepped out and the shadows melted back. A young man in black leather that hugged his body tightly, smiled at him from beneath the dark gray hood that wrapped around his neck. Always wearing the same outfit that hailed back to his homeworld. As Darrian came forward under the moonlight, he reached up to push the hood from his face, his silvery white hair shone coldly in the blue moon, his pointed ears now unhidden. If someone had asked Peter if he believed in elves he would have laughed and asked that person back, Christmas or Dungeons and Dragons, there were so many. Darrian was only one of the few that was chosen to join their Lord for his own reasons. It still felt odd at times, actually seeing an elf. If Peter still had that ridiculous sense of humor he used to be so notorious for, he would've had something to say about it, but he merely watched as the elf took tentative steps towards him and sat on the edge of the pool beside him. That same hand he remembered touching him reached out and glided over his cheek, ever so lightly stroking his face. It wasn't the same as that night, the feeling wasn't as intense and overwhelming, that was the only way he knew it was Darrian.

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“Not inside of you this time?” he said, reaching up to hold the hand, unable to resist bringing up that night when his Lord paid him a visit, within the elf's body. He came one other time before in the same body and at one point Peter was convinced, the Aspect of Death was really Darrian. 

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Darrian smiled, “No, not tonight, he won't always do that.”

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“Does it ever bother you, when he's inside of you?” 

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“It's always cold at first, but I've come to welcome the sensation. He doesn't like possessions, he's far too considerate to go that far on a daily basis.”

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Peter couldn't help but feel a little disappointed that this person who gave him new purpose and a new self, that was now the centre of his world, still hadn't appeared to him in person. And Darrian could sense his discontent.

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“It takes time,” he assured Peter, “He didn't come to me in his true form for some time after my transformation either. There is a reason why he can't.”

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“What was yours?”

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“I...had to find something, for my sake,” Darrian paused, then patted Peter on the back, grinning, his fangs glinted in the moonlight, “In time, Peter. He's not ready yet either.”

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Peter craned his neck, his chin tilted upward, and Darrian followed the gesture, leaning down his face over Peter's. Eyes closed. They both shared a mutual understanding of each other and the loneliness was soothed. Temporarily.

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	7. Intermission: Greetings from the Spider and the Elf

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After much debate we've decided to have our boys introduce and talk a little about themselves, and have them make a short recording. Due to some unfortunate events the others are currently not available for this shoot so please, bear with us. In the meantime please give a warm greeting to Peter and Darrian.

Peter: Hey, is this thing working?  
_*tapping at the shabby camera*_  
Peter:Cool, can't we just get a new camera that doesn't break every time we get close to exceeding the memory card? This is not the most efficient way of doing this.  
Darrian: And risk me breaking a potentially expensive device?

Peter:…You need to catch up, badly, on modern tech...  
Oh uh, hello there, readers, thanks for taking the time to read my life story, awkward and depressing as it can get at times. Life, as a hero is never is easy or as glamorous as it sounds, unless you're Tony Stark, amazing guy but insensitive sometimes.  
So if anyone was wondering, no, I'm not human any more. To explain it simply, I am something between the lines of a Shadow-wraith, my powers are now augmented by a force similar to the Darkforce except on the trade-off, to sustain myself at full strength I...have to consume life…

Darrian: Don't start getting sorry for yourself.

_The elf puts the camera down and walks into view_

Darrian: We've all been there, it's always hard at first, give it time.

Darrian: Well, he's older than America, there's no way he gets it

Darrian: Hey, haven't you heard of respecting your elders?

Peter: You, an elder? Ha, could've fooled my highschool jerkwad, Flash.

Darrian: Haven't met him yet, is he…?

Peter: Probably has a girlfriend, I'll arrange an appointment for you. As you would all have figured out, Darrian is an elf, also a shadow wraith like me but with different abilities. I retained my spider qualities with a few changes while he can do other impressive things. Like manifest his shadow force into a weapon, namely a bow, which fires arrows, but like I explained, he needs to consume life, being energy from every living thing. Souls are also a form of this energy and a powerful source of it as well but we rarely do that since it could send that soul directly to limbo or so I'm told. Nearly everyone who is part of the world we both live in rely on this energy so every once in a while, each one goes back down to hunt. Darrian, though likes going back to his own world to hunt, seriously what's so bad about Earth?

Darrian: It's noisy and the smell there is putrid.

Peter: Worse than wet dogs and rotting garbage?

Darrian: The smell of home.

Peter:…Unbelievable, he wasn't this bad when we first met.

Darrian: I have a bit of a reputation for it back in my world, to be honest, Peter was just as bad back then.

_Darrian flicks Peter on the nose._

Peter: That was before...anyway, thanks again for coming here everyone, send us comments and if you have any questions ask away and we may answer you.

Darrian: He means we will, you are so callous.

Peter: Nothing embarrassing, I will not respond to those

Darrian: I will, I can even give the filthy details

_Peter reaches out to grapple Darrian around the waist_

Peter: Oh no you won't.

Darrian: _Laughs_


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How unfortunate the one, whose innocence is lost too soon. Leaving only the bitter-sweet echo of what it once was."

If Mike Brent had known that tonight he was going to be a witness tonight, he would've called in sick and not taken night shift like he promised. Of course, it's not as if knew it, not until now. Huddled behind behind a rusty car, trembling for his life, scared speechless. He had to choices, to run like hell or sit here and wait for it to end. The first option was very tempting, and that's just the way it is with everything. All animals are good at running in the sight of fear or danger. With a surprising amount of courage or stupidity, he stuck his head around the back of the trashed vehicle. The moment he peeked around the wreckage, a horrific creature was hurled right past his nose screeching, right into pile of rusty girdles and pipes. Some of metal tumbled down from the pile while the creature remained, impaled on some razor sharp steel poles, it's mangled body drooped for a few seconds before it suddenly burst into flames, burning away completely.  
Mike tried not to scream, his hands clamped down tightly over his mouth. He screwed his eyes tight, chanting the lines to himself, 'breathe and count to five, breathe and count to five, one...two...three...” He scrambled to a safer spot, laying low behind an overturned school bus, he watched as the fight unfurled before his eyes.  
There was a clearing between the mountains of scrap and metal piled up in the facility, with the particularly large gap to the far left of the junk-yard now taken up by monsters. Their skin was broken by perpetual lacerations, purple flesh leading into the bone. They oozed black slick that looked like crude oil, coating everything they touched. Their gangly arms ended as blades that bent backwards on double joints, making them look slightly like mantis claws except more menacing. They walked on stilt legs that stabbed into the ground, some of them walked on all fours, making them looked like hairless rabid dogs. But it was their faces, their eyes, skull cracked open revealing a crater filled with worms, their jaws elongated and split into uneven mandibles and what skin was there simply hung from their heads. The eyes were sunken inside of their sockets but every time they screamed or roared, the skin pulled back and Mike saw them, white, cloudy and dead. Monsters, the kind that would haunt your every dream for the rest of your life, given if Mike would make it out the other end of this. His only hopes of coming away from this place alive hung on the last one, the one fighting all the others.  
This one looked like a person, but he couldn't tell. It was completely black and seemed to extend itself with tendrils of shadows that lashed out at the monsters, proving fatal as it cut through one like butter. The creatures hissed and cackled at the attacker and pounced at him all in unison, in response it whipped up a black storm that engulfed everything around it, nearly blowing poor Mike away. He shielded his eyes from the chilling gust and waited until it finally settled, he dared to peek out again.  
The clash was over. All that was left was the frozen remains shattered into crystal chunks surrounding the black figure in the middle, now standing motionless, silent. Mike stared in awe at the graceful and imposing creature, pitch black against the dull white lamps that hung over the junkyard. It was certainly humanoid, the 'tails' that hung down from his waist seemed weightless and flowing in the light breeze, moving ever so softly, with white marks forming intricate marks along his body right at the hollow below his throat was a spider motif that glowed a light blue. There was something distinctly familiar about it. Fascinated, he shifted forward a bit to get a closer look, his hand unwittingly slapped against a stray pipe, causing it to roll away with a noisy klang. The figure's blank white gaze whipped up from the ground and skimmed over the wreckage where Mike froze, hand clamped over his mouth. It took a couple of steps toward him, then the face blurred at faded back revealing a young man's face, not even out of adolescence but his expression was inhuman, his brick-red eyes wide and frenzied, scanned the area before him. His pale lips parted in a small, sly smirk, as if he found something amusing. Something about him, his expression terrified Mike to the core, then the stranger's suit rippled again, the edges around his neck became smoky. Shifted over his face into a white-eyed mask as he turned and strode away, a pitch-black portal appeared the outer rings rippled with indigo and violet veins. The mysterious boy walked without hesitation into it and vanished as it swallowed him up and imploded out of sight.  
Mike hastily scrambled from the scene towards the entrance of the junkyard where his post, a tiny, cramped cubicle stood alone and desolate among the mountains of disused appliances and vehicles. That's it, he thought, all the late nights, freezing his socks off because his boss was too miserly to afford a simple heating system and having to deal with hooligans and drunks just to look after his scrap metal, now this?! The pay wasn't worth it and he'd had enough. He wrote a quick note and stuck it to the notice board behind the small desk and left.

“I've had it, I QUIT!”

Petrakar exited the dimensional door onto the roof of a classy hotel. He was getting better at putting these up thanks to Zhi's training, apparently one of the things he could do with his 'awakened' powers. He flexed his two toes, tapping them off the hard surface. He'd just about gotten used to his body. However these claws were much stronger, making up for the missing digits with better grip and razor sharp claws as they dug and easily sunk into cement like butter, cracking it without any effort. His claws pulled out from the marble and revealed two big ugly holes. Hopefully maintenance won't be too pissed off. He crouched again and peered over the edge, eyes narrowing at the scene unfolding in front of the hotel.  
Police everywhere, the wail of sirens rang painfully through the night like a bell constantly echoing by his ears as ambulances and cops and cars cluttered the driveway. The paramedics, completely useless now, brought them out, one by one. A prostitution ring, and a sick one at that. They used children for their business, young boys and girls ranging from nine to fifteen were brought out and exploited each night. Tonight was one of them. All of them came out, it was perfect timing. Ritzy hotel, lots of rich potential customers it was an opportunity for the taking. Unfortunately for this particular gathering, tonight, Petrakar was hunting.  
They never saw him, crawling in the dark, feet soundlessly tiptoeing through the large room. Too busy picking out a poor boy to serve the first patron. The kids were being kept in a separate room to this one, reserves for tonight. Petrakar watched as they dragged the child into a special room where the fat slug waited. He couldn't strike yet. Too man lights, not enough shadows. Petrakar had carefully snuck around the room, planting wisps in every lamp. If he was going to destroy them, he would do it with maximum fear they deserved. By the time every bulb was tainted, the fat man had finished, leaving the limp, exhausted boy on the spot. A scrawny girl was next. The screams fueled Petrakar's growing bloodlust and once the wisps settled, he clicked his fingers, extinguishing all the lights at once. In total darkness, the gathering panicked.  
The goons were the first to go, Petrakar swiftly dispatched them without a second thought. But the patrons? He gave them more attention. They bought and they paid, in their own blood and screams. He hadn't even began to gut one of them and already the smell of urine was wafting from him, Petrakar smirked. Being torn apart slowly does wonders to a man, and these worthless pigs begged and squealed for mercy.  
The last on Petrakar's mental list was a lady, who headed this night's assembly. Respectable by day, a heartless wench at night, a woman of appearances with an obsession with beauty and twisted fantasies, full of sin and ripe for the reaping. He would take the most time with her, after all, they had all night. Funny enough, the bitch carried a gun and with it, threatened to blow the brains of the small girl on the carpet if he didn't back off. It was amusing, she believed she was facing a superhero. A typical criminal maneuver. Still unaware of her clients lying in pieces around her, entrails strewn about in the darkness. Fine, he'd thought, time to get a little creative as he slipped into the mirror realm, a vicious urge began to seep into his incorporeal form.  
“I swear don't come any closer!” The lady yelled in desperation. The apparition uttered a low guttural laugh unnerving the woman further, and without even blinking, Petrakar suddenly lashed out from the side, cutting her arm severely. She dropped the kid and stumbled backwards, gun still in hand. She frantically tried to see her attacker, aiming blindly until she spotted the outline of a gangly figure, standing against the pale light that poured in from the windows. She let loose her pistol, the sound of gunfire exploded over and over, each the figure disappeared with each flash from the gun, unaffected he edged closer until she was firing an empty gun, Petrakar was only a few feet away. The lady squeaked and tripped as she backed up over a corpse, right into a cooling pool of blood. Oh how she screamed, when she came to realization, such...fear. Out of nowhere, a hand closed around her throat, cutting off her voice with a choke. Claws, right next to her jugular dragged her up by her neck. Her legs kicked uselessly, one of her heels dropped off.  
“Somebody, please,” she whimpered. The air around her froze, chilling her to the bone, “Oh god, help me!”  
“God won't help you” Petrakar hissed, “He wants you dead!”  
“No, please no, no, eeeAAAAAAgh!”

The children were being herded into the police cars, on route for the ambulance for care. Some of them shipped in from the third world. The unfortunate kid who got picked first was wheeled on a stretcher, straight for the emergency room. Too bad. Not everyone can be saved. That woman's blood was still warm on his hands, her eyeballs in his fingers. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and so is this soul. Darrian disapproved of his brutality but there was no point in complaining about it. This was the nature of the spider. Merciless, and hungry. Still he'd probably have something to say about it, he thought as he prepared to conjure a door.  
“Peter? Is that you?”  
Petrakar jumped slightly. That voice was the last voice he'd expected to hear, a sudden feeling of warmth radiated against his back which gave the approaching presence away, and as he turned around, he felt his heart dropped. Johnny was the last person in any world he'd wanted to see. The fantastic hot-head of the Fantastic Four hovered behind with a shocked look on his face. For a moment he could recall the happy glow that Johnny brought but just as quickly as it came, it soured. A bitter taste of contempt in his mouth.

A single day would dragged on agonizingly, so much so that it seemed years for Johnny, trudging through the weeks, months just getting by on ritual, always waiting for the next fight, just so he could stop thinking about Peter. For a moment he could almost get over it, until now.  
Here he was, after all this time, his best friend, his confident, fellow trickster and hero, standing in front of him. His body covered in jet black, claws and talons for hands and feet, his white eyes narrowed at Johnny. Dark, seething, unrecognizable.  
“Peter...”the name tumbled from his lips in a shocked whisper that even he couldn't believe. This wasn't the Peter he knew. The ill feeling emitting from him was something his best friend could never have but yet, as he stood and turned to face Johnny, it became painfully familiar. The movement was the same.  
Johnny gaped in total disbelief, “Peter? I-”  
Just as he reached out to touch the him, the black figure dashed off and swung away.  
“Ah! Hey! Come back!”  
Johnny sped on after him in a blazing trail. To his surprise that guy was fast, so fast he had trouble keeping up as he mediated between swing on his webs and suddenly disintegrating in the air and reappearing yards ahead, he was using some kind of teleportation power or something. The chase went on for nearly a quarter of the city and something in Johnny's mind told him, that if this was Peter, he was toying with him right now. If they continued any longer, he was sure he'd have the power to just vanish, with Johnny missing his chance to finally talk to him. Johnny narrowed his eyes at the shrinking figure ahead. He wasn't going to ever catch up like this, time to take a shortcut. Suddenly, Johnny banked left and blasted his way around, hoping to fool the other into thinking he'd shaken him off, he did a wide circle, keeping a watchful eye out for the webslinger. Sure enough, he'd slowed down to a stop to peer around. He seemed tired out. No time to think about, this was his only opportunity. Johnny hovered as close as he could out of sight before blasting himself straight at the webslinger. Peter's eyes went wide as he registered a giant man-shaped fireball hurtling towards him, and tackled him back against the glass panes of a tall building. Luckily, not hard enough to break it but they both certainly felt the impact. Peter retaliated by swinging at Johnny, landing a solid punch to his jaw, in response, Johnny turned them around and flew right into the opposite building, this time, hard enough to dent the brickwork, Peter hissed. The flame-brain was trying to knock him out, he realized. He brought a sharp elbow down on Johnny's back. Then landing whatever blows he could, using fists, legs or his knees. His blows were answered with his old friend repeatedly trying to punch him into the wall. Down below, no one seemed to notice two men dishing it out. Johnny attempted to shift again and this time soared upwards with Peter still in his grasp, then flung his load down onto a rooftop. Peter hit the concrete hard, his back smashing against the surface leaving a crater around him and him winded. He hadn't fed, and his strength was waning. Bad.  
“I've known Spider-man to wear black once or twice but this takes the cake,” Johnny said casually as he watched Peter stagger to his feet. Despite being at only a fraction of his strength, he lashed out at the Human Torch with surprising speed, the first one landed but Johnny grabbed his other arm before it could connect and slammed in back into the side of a vent. He let his head loll forward as Johnny came up close, eyes narrowed.  
“So tell me, are you really Peter?” Johnny growled. The small figured he had pinned against the cold metal fell silent for a minute or so then began to let out a frightfully dark laugh, broken and inhuman. Johnny felt something inside tremble when he heard it, his flames died down.  
“Wouldn't you like to know?” Peter grinned a toothy grin as he slowly turned his gaze up, his wispy mask pulled back from his face like living smoke. And then the blond boy felt his heart flop dead for a beat, his body felt oddly cold the moment he set his eyes on that pale face. It was Peter and it was not, the Peter he knew never wore a dark expression, he looked so dead. But so startlingly beautiful at the same time. Then he made the mistake of looking him directly in the eye and was caught like a fly in a web. His soul was drawn to those dark red eyes that pierced through everything, that shone brighter than the streets behind him. The glare was painful and intoxicating like bloody wine and he couldn't tear himself away from them.  
While Johnny was completely immobilized by his gaze, Petrakar placed one hand on the back of his neck and leaned forward to whisper in his ear.  
“Tell me, do I look like him?” he pulled back to stare briefly into Johnny's eyes which were now partially dilated. He didn't answer, completely mesmerized. Like this, for the first time in a long time, he saw his best friend. No fists, no fire, no hateful faces. Just his best friend, standing there close. And for a moment, Petrakar could recount the moment when they sat or stood side by side, this familiar presence bringing back sweet memories where the colors were brighter. The innocence that was his, the happiness, trampled. He wanted to look back again through those days hidden in a corner of himself but part of him prevented him. Those memories, he didn't want them, no matter what he could try he could never have that life back, just the bitter taste of the past. Innocence lost is lost forever.  
As he forced those thoughts away, Petrakar began to sense the blood pumping under Johnny's skin and the immense heat emanating from his body was tempting Petrakar, pulling him in, beckoning him closer. To feed. He wouldn't have put it off earlier if he'd known he'd run into the stubborn ass tonight, time to break it off before he'd lost it. Without further ado, he brought one leg up and kicked, sending Johnny flying towards the edge. As he toppled over the ledge, he'd completely broken through the haze and gone 'flame on' . He wasted no time and sped back up to the rooftop to continue their confrontation but when he made it back, he was gone. A wisp of smoke blowing where he stood.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny has an unexpected night of pondering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, college life gets a little crazy

Johnny tried to search the city for any signs of Peter only to turn up with nothing, like he'd just disappeared off the face of the planet, again. So he had no choice but to return to the Fantastic Four tower, his already bitter mood reaching seething levels, right in the middle of the Sue and Ben watching the big screen while Reed was, as usual busy with more research. He didn't even look up from the samples he was fiddling around with when Johnny unceremoniously kicked the door open and stormed in. As usual, Sue was the first to respond to this upset.

“Where have you been?” she questioned, her arms crossed and clearly not pleased with his behavior.

“Out.”

“Out. Where?”

“Look I don't have time to deal with this-” Johnny said as he tried to dismiss her and return to his room, he needed time to think. But Sue was persistent, she always is.

“This seems a good time as any and don't think you can get away with sneaking out.” Johnny gritted his teeth while he glanced back angrily at her and kept walking.

“Went flying like I always do when no one is listening, the window looked like a better exit that's all,” he grumbled back at her, his snarky tone only made her madder.

“Hey, what do you-?” she began to say when he cut her off at the door.

“Like I said, OUT.”

Johnny didn't leave his sister an opportunity to answer as he slammed the bedroom door again. He paced up and down his room trying to gather himself. He really didn't want to treat any one like that, especially his big sister since she'd done nothing but try to keep them together. They didn't have their Mom and Dad to support them which forced Sue to grow up and mature beyond her years, she'd go grey soon. She deserved to be respected but Johnny was all over the place now. Somehow Peter was back, but it wasn't the same Peter he'd known. He was dark, his aura was feral and dangerous. And his He could hear her saying out loud “He's beyond help!”   
Ben replied simply, “Kid's going through a phase, all a 'em do.”  
She sighed, the fatigue, frustration coloring her voice, “We all know the reason why he's this way, it still affects him, what happened to-” Johnny doesn't want to hear it, the name, the pity, the grief bubbling up from inside and threatening to drown him.

Don't say it...Don'tsayitDon'tsayit'Don'tsayit, please don't say his name

Sue paused, the silence was painful. She let out a sigh, heavier this time and defeated, “I feel like a horrible person, that I can't even help him through this as a sister, and now, that...thing!”

Johnny bristled. They knew, or maybe they saw, Sue talked about him like some monster and Johnny didn't like that one bit, not unless he was sure. He continued to listen, trying to find out what they knew.

Ben grunted, “Hey!”

“Sue I don't think it's polite to refer to him as a thing just because that's Ben's Hero identity, this newcomer, is supposed to be Spider-man as they say, just different.”

“Different! He scares me Richard! He's like a ghost, haunting everything, he shows up and then vanishes and nothing can trace him. If he's not out there saving people, my god, we don't know what he's even doing here.”  
“From what Steve Rogers has told everyone in the loop-” Johnny's eyes almost popped out at the name. Captain America? What's he got to do with this new Spider-man? 

“He's got a purpose which he won't disclose, his guess is that since he arrived, more people have been dying and in a most unpleasant manner, Rogers say he must be involved. He and Stark are the only ones who have been in contact with him, and from what they saw and heard that night, they are almost certain he is part of the cases.”

Johnny stumbled backwards letting his legs give out and land him on the bed. It creaked in protest from the sudden and heavy weight. He was stunned. Captain America knew, they knew, which meant it was circling around. He'd been almost sure that he was the only one to know about this Black Spider, but he was wrong. How had he missed this? At the back of his mind, a little memory, hazy and unclear niggled at him, they had said something about an announcement from Captain America...Johnny stared up at the ceiling for ten minutes before it hit him. That's right, he'd avoided all contact with the other heroes, never watched the news, or read it. That day, whichever day it was, the broadcast was on he could almost remember hiding away in his room again, like every other day. Shutting everything and everyone out.  
He hated hearing the news on TV, he hated reporters, he hated the Daily Bugle and all those other media sharks that preyed on Spider-man's dwindling reputation, humiliating him and pouring misguided hate over him. Over Peter.  
Johnny didn't realized how much he'd missed until now, he needed to pay someone a visit. He turned for the window but stopped as he realized that it was replaced with a heat resistant and double strength glass. He could almost hear his sister saying 'Windows aren't exits, Johnny, don't try that again!'. He'd laugh if the situation wasn't this dire. He considered going through the walls except he's pretty certain Reed had installed countermeasures against all possible attack on the tower, trying to blow a hole through the wall would take a lot longer than he could afford. He needed to get out of here as soon as possible-he turned and narrowed his eyes at the bedroom door- even if that meant going through the goddamn front door.   
Against all his instincts he left the bedroom and charged for the exit. Reed looked up from his experiments and Ben turned around, beer in hand, his brain of rocks attempting to process the situation, slow as usual. Sue on the other hand, had picked up on him as soon as he was out of his cave, wasting not a single second.

“Where do you think you're going?”

Johnny was still making a beeline for the door and was deciding between ignoring her and risking a beat down or lying, risk her her detecting the lie and still get a beat down. Knew this was going to happen, he thought, come on Johnny, LIE!

“Out.” Shoot! Not to self, bad at lying.

She raised one eyebrow, her stance still tense. Crap! She was onto him. No point in stopping now better make it out the door and hope she doesn't have the inkling to...  
But as he reached for his door, something invisible and solid blocked his way, with him nearly smashing his face right into it. SHOOT! Johnny pounded the invisible wall with futility, he had no time for this and was in no mood to deal with family dynamics. Not. One. Bit. He turned around to glare at her, sending her one of his more dangerous, hateful looks. She shifted a bit but otherwise hid away her anxiety.

“I don't think so, you don't get to walk out of here like you own the place.”

“I don't think you get to tell me what to do, you're not Mom or Dad!” She flinched a little, it hurt, it must have hurt to hear that, Johnny realized, and somewhere inside of him regretted saying those words but he didn't have time for this., “Let me go. Sue.”

“What's with you?! I'm asking you to stay here for once and you send me a threat!”

“Sue...”

“All I wanted was to talk to you-”

“Uh, Sue...” Ben put the beer bottle down.

“Talk to you for once about what was hurting, making you like this!-” By this time Reed was actually getting up from his work table.

“Susan, I think you better-”

“But you insist on shutting us all out, like a child and keeping to yourself!”

Suddenly, Johnny felt his insides burst, white hot and raging out of control and he screamed with hate and grief, all of the ugliness pouring out at once.

“Sue, get down!” Reed practically sprung himself over to wrap her up while Ben scrunched over them, blocking the blast. The wave ended and Johnny was left still alight, his chest heaving with great difficulty. His eyes were still trained on the three, burning eyes, not appearing to notice the havoc he'd wrought on the large room. 

“You think you can talk to me after lying to me that many times? Think again,” he growled through his teeth before stalking out of the room. Leaving a blazing trail behind him and total destruction. The three of them finally got up. Reed untangled himself from his horrified wife having witnessed her brother's sudden outburst. He'd only gone nova once during a test of limits but this was out of rage, like something that had been put on high pressure for too long and it wasn't even nova level. Reed turned to Ben.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, just a little scorched as rocks go, the kid would be making jokes if he wasn't this moody, Sue?”

She was curled up in shock, pulling her knees right up to her chest and for the first time, she had no idea what to do, not a single clue. She just felt like crying and wishing their parents were still here to give her some guidance. And Reed hugged her with all he had in his rare moments of empathy, when all he wanted to do was to hold her and comfort her. She sank into his arms and cried.

“Oh god, what have I done?”

He felt bad, no, he felt terrible, like the worst scum on the earth. It took a while before it had sunk in and he finally realized what he'd just done. Johnny's eyes had for some reason failed to register the damage he'd done both on the tower and his family until he'd been flying for a whole ten minutes. He groaned and wanted to slam into the nearest concrete wall, but even that wouldn't make up for crossing the line. He'd never lost control like that before, never, not even as a kid. And especially not towards Sue, dear god, she didn't deserve that, Sue, Reed or Ben. And it made him wonder just how low he'd fallen.  
Smooth, he thought, real smooth Johnny, now there was no way he could go back even if they did forgive him, things would just be too awkward. This forced Johnny to land and try to catch his breath. It scared him how this was affecting him. He had to get to the bottom of this before he could even think about going back to his home, and no doubt the word would be getting out pretty soon that the Human Torch had run off, among the superhero community.   
Now that it had gotten out, it was time to get more answers, he went into flame on mode again and hovered above a few meters above the taller buildings, trying to get his bearings, after a bit of looking he spotted the biggest tower in the distance and gave a burst of power into his flight and zoomed off towards the Avenger's tower.

 

An Avenger's job is never done even into the late hours and Steve was busy doing his, namely reporting, writing up plans for training and paring down a schedule with Jarvis. Lots of hands to shake and lots of upcoming or ongoing missions to deal with while Tony was undoubtedly busy in his own part of the tower probably working on a prototype. So as usual, the paper work was handed to Steve. But he'd gotten most of it out of the way and was just thinking to turn in for the night when he caught the scent of burning. His first instinct was an intruder, but the had to be either extremely skilled to get past Jarvis so easily or…  
Steve grabbed his shield from his room and rushed towards the source of the scent until he reached the designated leisure room, as Tony preferred to call it. A huge wall mounted screen for a TV, refreshments behind a curving counter and lounge chairs all over the place, something only a billionare playboy could think of while sleeping. Except the room was now trashed, the chairs were flipped over or burned and standing right in the middle of it was Johnny Storm. Holding a paper, or what was left of it, now a charring mess in his hands, the article on the return of Spider-man with a sinister new presence, and he looked like he was going to burn something else.

“Johnny?” The blond looked up, his eyes scorching. Steve shuffled sideways with the shield at the ready.

“You knew,” Steve narrowed his eyes in confusion at Johnny's first words, “You saw him.”

He began to realize he was talking about Peter, but something in the way he held his voice, his tone meant Steve had to be careful with what he said, “What is it Johnny, what's wrong?”

“I've been waiting for so long, all I could think about was him and now he's suddenly back and you. Talked. To. Him.”

“What?”

“Why didn't you tell me? When he showed up, why didn't you come tell me?” Johnny felt that rage boiling up again from the inside, with something screaming at him to suppress it.

“Johnny I-” Steve's hand went over his face as he breathed deep, trying to get a hold of the situation and figure out what Torch was saying, he put the shield down, “Look, it was a few days ago and honestly, it was all over the news, I didn't personally tell anyone about it and you weren't exactly at the top of my list. I had no idea that you hadn't caught wind of what happened either, Sue only told me you were still grieving.”

Steve put his shield down, that was a gesture of complete trust that Johnny wasn't here for a fight, and deep down, Johnny wasn't here to fight. But he was angry. That made him threatening.

“He never registered on our sensors and when we crossed it was so fast that we almost thought it wasn't real, believe when I tell you we only met him by chance, but we couldn't confirm anything without further investigation. I only went public with this because we were seen that night.”

Johnny didn't answer, he couldn't with the ugly words and hate that had built up still inside. If he opened his mouth he might literally spit fire at the Cap. 

“I know you couldn't come out because of what happened that night with Peter, that's why you holed yourself up for so long but losing control now won't make anyone, least of all yourself get to the bottom of this, we need to know why he's here,” Steve said, “We're not even sure that this is him, we can't be sure. I know, he was your best friend, Johnny but please understand, I wasn't hiding anything.”

Johnny could feel the emotion that was boiling inside turn and become something else and it wasn't anger any more. It was everything, all the guilt and the loss, defeated by his own demons. He collapsed into a chair next to him that wasn't overturned or broken. His flaming body returned to normal as the anger subsided for now and he dropped the charred newspaper, putting his head in his hands. Steve went over, pulling a second chair upright, next to Johnny and sat with him in silence for a little while before he dared to put a hand on the young man's shoulder. Johnny made no move to remove it or attack Steve so he left it there, waiting.  
Slumped over and visibly struggling inside, Steve sensed he must have felt the same guilt as he did, as all of the team did for not being there for Peter at his darkest moment. He probably had it worse, Parker was his best friend, they looked out for each other.

“I know he meant a lot to you, I understand how horrible you feel about it but it was also my fault...mostly my fault that I didn't listen to him in the first place, he wouldn't have lost his loved ones like that, so don't blame yourself.”

Johnny exhaled and began to speak, “Then why? Why did you brush him off?”

Steve puffed, hoo boy, he thought, here comes the hard questions.

“I spent a good few years in wars, the 1900s were pretty awful. When I was a kid, World War I was just coming to an end, the tension that came after was just the continuation of it, like it never really ended. Then the second war started and I was drafted in. I suffered through training and hardship, I watched men die on the battlefield before I was given the super serum. I can still see them, young men dying in droves for a cause that they believed in was for the greater good.   
When you get to about a certain age you start to feel old and a little bitter, for me, the ideals I grew up with, my training and the things I had to witness, stuck with me. I look at the kids now and think, they're not much older than the young men I fought beside and they think they are entitled to everything. They complain about how hard their lives were when it's nothing compared to what my comrades and I have experienced. So when I saw Peter out on the streets fighting crime, I didn't get him, this wasn't a game. I felt he was too inexperienced and not mature enough for this lifestyle and the way he struggled was proof to me. The tabloids and papers painted his picture and I bought it.”  
“I pushed him away because I felt what he was saying was nonsense, baseless theories on a bad feeling he had. What I didn't realize was that he really tried to be the hero, that he really did suffer a lot to do the right thing. I was unfair, guess that mean I really am getting old.”

“He told me once that some weird stuff was happening to him, a few weeks before...that incident. He was getting these visions, like he was seeing things before they happened, like when I had a problem with my powers going put put, and he personally swung by the tower with two fire extinguishers ready. Saved the tower a lot of damage,” Johnny smirked at the memory, “Caused me a lot of embarrassment though.”

Steve smiled when he saw the blonde lighten up a little, “He was having premonitions?”

“If that's what you call it. Yeah.”

Steve stared silently at the floor, “Then he must have had one before the incident on the bridge.”

“He tried to tell me as well, to get you to change your mind, but I didn't have the guts when you were that occupied. We said some awful things to each other that day, and after...”Johnny fell silent, the look of guilt and regret washed over him again, “After the only family he had died, when he lost his friends on the bridge, I didn't have the guts either to go to him, that was the stupidest thing I hadn't done.”  
“I go to see her sometimes, Gwen, but I don't think she's coming out of there. They say it's permanent brain damage.”

Johnny sniffed, like he was trying to hold back tears, “I missed him so much. When I saw him being taken away like that it was like someone was tearing my heart out and letting that hole eat me from the inside. Sue's right, I changed when I lost him. I lost it,” Johnny got up and walked over towards the window, looking out, “I really miss him and I still don't know if that's the Peter I know.”

Steve saw the longing in the young man and the void in his heart eating at him slowly behind the angry façade. In his own heart, his own mask paled in comparison to just how deeply this affected Johnny. Steve realized this was the talk they both needed. No notes being taken, no reports, just two men letting out the heavy burden. And it all seemed clear what it was they should do.

“Maybe it's time we looked for him.” Johnny turned back with eyes blazing to life. Then a wry smile made it to his face, grateful and nervous. He nodded.

“Sorry by the way, about your wall.”

“Don't worry about it, we can get it fixed any time, Tony pays for it naturally,” Steve said and Johnny allowed himself to smile in earnest.


	10. Chapter 10

“Ross.”

The boy jumped at the mention of his name, “Gah, jeez, it's you!” He dropped what looked like a pack of cigarettes on the ground which he promptly bent down and snatched up from the dirt. He turned to narrow his eyes at the other boy from before, seated perfectly on a thin steel railing above him, painted black and separating the streets from the police station.

“How'd you get up there?” he asked, rather surprised by how comfortable the young man had made himself at that height. That can't be comfortable sitting on something with little surface area.

“Mmmm, secret.”

Ross turned and let out a noise, “Right, so what the hell are you doing here?”

“I said I'd be around, didn't I. I'd be poor company if I broke my promises.”

“And...you just decided to show up?” Ross regarded the other with suspicion who turned his gaze off into the distance as if contemplating something, what a weird guy, he thought. Then those eyes turned back to him with an unreadable grin.

“Maybe, skipping school?” Petrakar asked cocking his head to the question.

“No, I uh, had to pick my uncle up from the station,” Ross said, thumb pointing back behind the walls, “He got in some trouble last night drinking, I told my teachers.”

Petrakar stared at him with a mixture of pride and pity, he could see the honesty in the boy's eyes, though they shifted and avoided Petrakar's eyes not for secrecy but for shame. People like him keeps secrets because of shame and fear. He pushed the thought aside and smiled.

“I have something for you.”

Ross looked up at him warily while Petrakar rooted around his person and casually threw the boy a box. Luckily, Ross caught it well and examined it with a bit of confusion, he looked at Petrakar who just smiled, then back to the box.

“Happy Birthday, Ross.”

He opened it to find a watch seated perfectly in its package, new and shiny. But it was strangely familiar to him. He took it out and looked it over. At the back of the watch face, there was an inscription. His face instantly lighted up and screw up with emotion as he read the words, _“Strength in the face of hardship – Marianne C.”_ His mother's words.

“Whe-where did you get this, this is my mom's watch, the one my stupid uncle said he'd gotten rid of!”

Petrakar shrugged, his shoulders rising and dipping nonchalantly, “It wasn't finding out who he pawned it to, I have...friends in the dark too.”

It wasn't hard pulling memories from a drunken man with less brain cells than a fish, but Petrakar would keep that information to himself.

Ross laughed, “We both have pretty bad company huh?” he didn't seem to mind how Petrakar avoided going into details.

“Your friends are filthy and mine are strange, it works,” he grinned. Ross grinned back and wasted no time in snapping his mother's watch onto his wrist. He pulled his sleeve over it, taking care to hide it from greedy eyes.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Petrakar called as he stood up effortlessly on the metal bar, and began to tiptoe his way to the other end.

“I never caught your name,” Ross called out. For a brief moment, Petrakar looked back over his shoulder with a mysterious glint in his eye that made Ross shiver down to his toes. Then the other boy smirked lazily.

“I guess you can call me, P.T., it works for my friends.”

“Sure, see you around,” Ross said as Petrakar sauntered away, hand in his pocket and the other waving casually back. He walked through the more isolated part of downtown until he found an especially quiet alley where no one walked. The only light that fell dimly between was reflections off the surface of the streets and otherwise, a cool shade hung over he narrow walkway. Petrakar spun for himself a cocoon of black strand. He clambered inside his work and curled up to sleep the sunlight away.

……..

In the night whispers, particularly sombre spoke to him in his dreams, rousing Petrakar from his rest. He cast his eyes down from his nest. His next task was clear. You reap what you sow and the target had sown seeds on shaky grounds.  
Things were so much easier when things were black and white. No running around with guilt strapped to your back or wishful thinking bound strongly to his thoughts only to be broken again.  
Killing the guilty and deserving was always easy, not so easy when the task involved the innocent, worse still were the ones in the gray area, where not everything was just simply right and wrong. No matter how many times he would do this, it was something Petrakar dreaded. 

“Mr. Parwell.” Petrakar greeted. The house was respectable, but only on the outside, bought with betrayal and the suffering of others. He'd snuck in through the window where the man was waiting. Seated in a worn out, pastel armchair one lamp glaring on table beside him. A glass of whiskey twinkling in the light, his hand wrapped around it. With the light on, Parwell's face was barely visible, but Petrakar could tell he wasn't afraid. More...expectant.

“You came,” the man must have drank a lot, his voice was broken and scratchy with alcohol.

“Drinking the strong stuff, Parwell? You know that will destroy your throat.”

“Hah, been keeping my stash just so I could enjoy it on the last day,” he said with a hearty laugh before chugging the glass down, he reached under the table and fished out another full bottle of whiskey and poured his glass full. Then filled a second glass. He took a swig while offering the other to Petrakar.

“Thanks but I'm no drinker, better keep it for yourself,” Petrakar said with a sweet smile.

“Gotta live more, take a risk, break a few hearts...”

“I did that once, it was my heart that was broken.” The silence fell between them.

“Sorry to hear that kid.” The man took another long drink and coughed when it went down to quickly, it was almost deliberate.

“Hoho, this is good stuff, sixty years, kept in my grandfather's cellar before I was born. I know people who'd kill for this,” the man said smiling grimly at the amber liquid, “Probably looking for me now.”

“Yes.”

They were on their way, searching, looking for blood. A traitor and deserter pays for his life and the lives of their family and they were coming to collect their due. This was how the crime world worked, either die in this life or die a traitor. No exceptions. Petrakar felt sorry for this man who'd risked everything to build a better life out of crime when he realized his wife was pregnant with two baby girls. His family was the last thing he would involve with his employers, he'd kept it a secret for so long. But all things will eventually come to light under the scrutiny of the crime lords, so the only thing left was to break out and pray to God that he didn't screw up. And pray he did.

“I'm glad it's you that's gonna finish the job, I won't have to tell those bastards a thing,” Parwell added as he took another drink, “I moved them far away, Big Boss won't ever know they existed, I made damn sure of that.”

“Good.” There was a pause as he'd taken the last sip from the glass. Abandoning it, he moved straight to the bottle.

“Is that your last bottle? I can wait.”

“Nah, just about done,” Parwell said, letting the final drop fall on his tongue. He set the empty bottle down next to the lamp.

“They'll be okay right?”

Petrakar couldn't be sure, a person can die from many things, it might not even be quick and merciful, but he could be mostly assured Parwell's family would be safe. He can't see the future, but at least there was hope. This ex-crime lord, drug smuggling, associate of murder and filth-covered sinner in the end, more than anything, loved his family enough to throw himself down for them. It was more than enough.

“You're a good kid, whatever happened, you deserved better.” Petrakar smiled again and nodded before stepped closer. His form somehow still slight despite looming over the seated man.

“Will you tell the big guy up there, I'm really sorry for the shitty life I led, and for what I've done.”

“He knows, you'll pass that message to him yourself.” 

With that, Parwell's eyes welled up with tears and Petrakar reached out and settled his hand on the stubble cheek. His fingers traced upwards until they were over the smooth head. Petrakar let his face be uncovered and the soul gem on his neck glowed. His hand pulled back and with it, pale blue tendrils of Parwell's soul followed. The process was painless as he made no move, no attempt to resist. He welcomed Death gladly.

“Thank you.”

“See you around Mr. Parwell.”

The last wisps of his soul curled around Petrakar's arm and drifted towards the ornament looped around his neck, the glowing blue gem absorbed them. leaving the husk pale and cold. Arms falling limp by the chair. A torturous silence followed as Petrakar spied the bottle on the table, a gulp or two of whiskey left. He poured what remained into an empty glass and gulped it down in one go against his better judgement. He coughed and spluttered a little, the liquid burning its way down and leaving a warmth in his cold body. Petrakar brought the back of his hand up to wipe a few drops that escaped his lips, smiling. He'll regret it later but for now, it was okay.

“You're right, Parwell, it is was well aged.”

No one answered.

.................

 _Everything was cold. The air he breathed, was liquid ice enveloping Peter in his room, on the floor._  
_The floor he lay on, was colder than chilled steel despite the softness of the carpet reaching out to his skin. It smelled just like the way he remembered but this time, it was devoid of joy. He tried moving to the bed but it too was also cold._  
_Ice water was coursing in his veins rather than blood. Just like the day he fought and failed and lost it all. It was in his blood, his body and heart, his eyes. Peter had never felt so cold before. If he could start crying again he suspects they would freeze on his cheeks, but he's run out._  
_Sixteen, not old enough to claim independence, but old enough to understand that he will be sent into foster care, into strangers' arms. He didn't want to stay with people who didn't know him, he didn't want to risk damaging them either, because of what he could do, and who he was. Was._  
_Peter doesn't think he can put the costume on again, but they'll be coming for him soon, he can't hole himself up here without the social workers eventually breaking in._  
_He wanted to stay a little longer, while the scent still lingered, while he could still here his aunt and uncle calling him from downstairs. Even though he knew they weren't. It hurt to think about them but he preferred the pain._

_He wanted to pretend that the cell he'd left on the desk would ring and he could pick it up and Harry or MJ will try to persuade him to come out and hang with them, except it won't. But he picks it up anyway. He puts his phone back down. It's dead. He remembers how they spent their days together, it hurts but he doesn't care._  
_He wasn't sure which hurt more, losing the ones you love or being rejected by the ones you adored. Maybe both. There had to be a breaking point. But he was certain of one thing, that no one needed him or cared.  
For once, he's silent, and for once the silence is comforting even though he can feel his fragmented heart stabbing him from the inside out. The shadows laid their arms over him like a dark shelter. For the first time, he appreciates the company of shadows._

_He listens to the rain pattering softly at his bedroom window, if he closes his eyes he can almost here the familiar wail of sirens in the distance. But he doesn't care. He doesn't move. It's dark. He needs to move or someone might come searching. Peter didn't want to be found.  
He finally reaches for the costume, oddly colorful against the dark room. One last time._

_He swings. Going nowhere in particular just as long as he's moving. Peter realized that one of the. few things that made it hard to catch Spider-man was that he moved fast and could be elusive if he wanted. No one ever looks up. If he wanted to hide he could do it where no one could find him._  
_His limbs finally got tired and he came to a stop atop a crumbling tower, decades old and still standing with eagle statues still casting their disapproving gaze over the city with wings spread._  
_He climbed up on one of them and lay his chin down on its bald stone head. Peter quite liked their perspective, if they wanted to maybe they could swoop down and snatch people off the streets below, except they won't, Peter liked to think they wouldn't care._  
_As he lay down, arms crossed across its neck, a small voice whispered to him again, suddenly he could see a face flash behind his eyes, bright like the moon but filled with shadows. Someone was calling to him. Whispering compassionately like a mother to her fallen child. Comforting him. He didn't resist._

 _By the time he reached the bridge where the voice was at its loudest, he was exhausted. Peter couldn't remember the last time he slept, if he ate for the past few days. He doesn't remember anything apart from lying in his room in the dark. He was so very tired._

_“Peter,” the voice whispered again, “Peeeter.”_

_Something loud and irritating blotted out the voice momentarily, he forced his eyes up and glanced at the helicopter hovering noisily around the bridge, but he couldn't care less. He shut out the outside world and reached out with his mind.  
He wanted to lie down so bad, his legs were failing him. So the voice told him to lie down and he complied. The metal cold and slick with rain, but he couldn't feel it. The rain fell on his face, seeping through the mask. It was restricting so he pulled off the mask. It didn't matter as long as he could feel free. He was crying softly, the tears lost in the rain. The voice cooed to him, arms circled around him and lifted him up, warm fingers brushing lightly against his cheeks, making him smile through the tears. He opened his eyes and saw the face, clear against the night sky and smiling gently. Features soft and gentle like a woman's but sharper framed in the blackest of midnights, a young man probably no older than Peter but at the same time, exuded an aura that was ages old. He knelt down beside Peter, no sound of the contact could be hear and was bending slightly over him, a pale hand on his cheek. He realized this man was also crying. But he looked at Peter like he was bring a lost child home._

_“You are dying, Peter” when he spoke, his voice sang of winter and nights, cold but a kind and tender note to it. His voice reverberating in different pitches. Peter didn't answer.  
“Your heart is turning to ice, little spider, soon, you will have to leave your world behind.”_

_Oh, he thought, so this is what it is like to die. He expected pain and fear that always made dying such a terrible thing, the way people pictured death to be. But it was strangely calming, sweet and welcoming._

_Peter closed his eyes for a moment and imagined himself turning slowly into mist and he could drift away, and let all of himself go. Let the wind take him to places where the angry voices and hate couldn't touch him any more, somewhere where he could let the disappointment and grief fade like a bad scar. He didn't mind the thought of leaving at that moment, he could become something else or nothing, but it wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered when you were lost and alone._

_Pale lips leaned close to his ear, “I can grant you a part of me. Accept the shadows and I will take you away from here.”_

_Peter was vaguely aware of the world now watching them, somehow, he could feel a thousand eyes trained on him through some sense but within the presence now looming over him, icy blue eyes staring into his soul,the world could watch him burn and they still would be insignificant. Because all that he wanted to focus on was this man before him. This beautiful, sad figure draped in shadows who made his dying heart flutter as it slowed. Without a second thought, Peter knew what his last wish would be._

_Peter's lips moved, barely a sound from them, but the stranger heard his answer._

_“Sleep, Peter, close your eyes and dream,” the figure sang and Peter obeyed, his eyes closing as the last thing he felt was cold, soft lips on his own and the taste of blood before his heart stopped and his soul began to fly. This little spider grew webbed wings and drifted off into the night with the moon watching tenderly._

_“You are not alone any more.”_

 

Psalm 91:1  
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High Will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.


	11. Chapter 11

It was easy to forget how quickly the peace in the city could be broken, sometimes as long as a week, sometimes only in the span of a few minutes. New Yorkers had busy lives, villains always busily going about their plans for world domination and keeping respective superheroes busy.  
Somewhere in Manhattan, while everybody else was busy with the latest super villain scheme, Electro was getting to work. Someone was bound to take advantage of the situation. They wouldn't care anyway, was the thought on his greedy mind, a robbery was nothing compared to world domination, and all he wanted was the big bucks, and jewels, that's what he lived for. And no annoying, bug brat to stop him this time.  
Max couldn't help but grin as he suited up. Oh how great it felt to see Spider-man kick the bucket that night, granted a little creepy, no one managed to figure out what that weird black mist was on tv, but he couldn't care less. Spidey was gone and with all the other superheroes busy, this was his opportunity to make it big his own way.

“Look out, New York, your day is going up in sparks!”

 

Sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder what life would be like without superheroes. Would that mean there won't be supervillains either? Would that mean that all that the world would have to worry about are crooks and the odd psychopath? Kathy couldn't be sure, she was just some diner waitress with the odd free time to waste on thinking about silly things. On her way home from work, her apartment just around the corner from 9th Avenue, and boy did she need her rest, her boss still owed her overtime from the last week.  
As she strolled through the sleepless streets, cars blaring and lights a tiny bit too bright for someone on five hours sleep and running on coffee, she pulled her jacket tighter around her. By now, she avoided taking any shortcuts despite the temptation of a fast route home. More than a few times, she been an accidental witness to some shady dealings and gang wars that waged between the young and dumb of the city. Taking their aggression and frustration out on others, god even the cops were useless and slow, authorities never seemed to find a permanent solution to this problem. Not that they would do anything that could put them out of business.  
Always had to be some street level hero to step in and string them up, and she could name one. Spider-man used to swing by her area quite frequently, it was a little weird sometimes, spotting a guy in red and blue tights, spinning webs and beating up bad guys. Kathy had seen him up close too, whenever he crashed nearby. If she had to guess based on his behavior and voice, he was younger than her maybe under a decade, at least he was. It was a little sad now, not seeing him whizz by her block, sometimes cheering like he was having the time of his life.  
He wasn't there to keep the streets clean any more. She missed walking around carefree.  
At least, Kathy thought, she can stop by Biggs and Bean for another coffee, it was only twenty minutes from her apartment.  
As she moved for the door, a sudden scream snapped her out of her mechanical routine and turned around to see a bright flash hit the car next to her, the heat nearly scorching her hair and coat. With wide frightened eyes, she froze to the spot as a man in a weird suit throwing electricity in all directions came bounding out of a jewellery store, cursing. Some police officers that were trying to isolate him were forced to take cover. From the sirens in the distance getting gradually louder, they expected reinforcements.  
One cop attempted to take the shot, but Electro had seen it coming and unleashed another blinding bolt in his direction. Fortunately, the man was sensible enough to duck out of the way, though stray bits of energy ripped into him, causing him to convulse on the ground. Kathy could hear one of the other officers, probably his partner shouting into his radio.

“Officer down, I repeat Officer down, we need back up, stat! Shit, Welkes, are you alright!?”

No response from the man who was still shaking violently from the electricity coursing through him, his muscles out of sync.

“Get LOST! I don't wanna have to deal with you cops but I can and will,” Electro yelled, tendrils of electricity were shooting out of his hands as he brandished them about like a weapon.

“We need back up now!” the officer shouted, “Someone pull Welkes out of the line of fire!”

A fellow officer ducked down and behind some cars towards his incapacitated colleague who was miraculously alive, the worst of the static never reaching his heart. But he was beginning to foam at the mouth. Just then, another bolt of energy fired and this time hit a fourth officer right in the chest, frying him.

“Christ! Another officer down, I repeat, Officer Tyson is down, the freak fried him!”

“Roger, back up is arriving at your location,” said a mechanical but human voice over the radio. Four police vehicles and a SWAT team pulled up on the road, enforcers streaming out left right and centre. They had Electro surrounded.

“Freeze! Put whatever weapons you have down and surrender.”

Electro made a face of disbelief before it twisted into a horrible toothy grin, “Weapons? I AM the weapon!”

Then he unleashed hell on everyone, any machines or cars nearby turned into flaming, exploding hunks of metal. Sparks were everywhere and in the chaos, civilians were getting caught in the fire. Guns were being fired. The sound was deafening. Electro's mad grin grew as he fried every bullet into dust. So much for America and its guns.  
Kathy stood on the other side of the mess, watching in horror as she came to realize, these men were no match against a monster and no amount of bullets would stop him. If police couldn't stop him, they'd have to call in the army. By then, a whole five block would be scorched. Where was Captain America or Iron Man when you needed them?  
Another explosion shook the street with a flaming car flying through the air, hurtling right in Kathy's direction, and her legs still frozen and unmoving. Terrified she squeezed her eyes shut and prepared for the pain. 

Nothing.

“Either you are looking to die or you're not too bright, standing in the way.”

It took a few moments before Kathy realized she wasn't a bloody street pancake and allowed herself to open her eyes. She expected to see either her legs pinned under the car or maybe find out she's actually dead but as her vision focused, she could see the hood of the car inches from her, still on her feet.  
When it finally sunk in, she swore she could just collapse on the spot and she nearly did when something landed on the vehicle above her. She let out a small shriek as her gaze flicked automatically to a black figure, crouched over her. A young man, teenager she guessed from his voice and figure though he seemed so small, his face was hidden with a black mask and what looked like horn curling at the back of his head and neck. He seemed to be peering at her contemplatively with his white eyes, tilting his head a little. For a moment, Kathy forgot her fear and stared back at him and out of curiosity, her gaze glanced around and she realized the car was being held up in the air by webs, black strands of webbing attached themselves to the ends of the car and the street lamps on either side.

She stared back at the boy, his voice becoming slightly more familiar.

“Spidey?”

He cocked his head again, but before she could say anything else, there was another great spark behind him. The police still at a stand-off with Electro.  
This new strange Spider-man looked over his shoulder and let out a noise that sounded like a sigh, though Kathy couldn't tell with his mask on. He rose from his heels and turned to face Electro, the powered criminal was too busy causing chaos to notice him at first until the young man hopped down from the dangling vehicle and began to stride towards him. Eventually Electro noticed the black figure against that seemed to be it's own shadow against the light from the bolts he was emitting.

“Who the hell are you?!” he spat.

“After all this time Max, I never realized just how childish you really are, hateful and greedy,” the voice came from the figure, something about those eyes reminded Electro of the wall-crawling pest but he was supposed to be dead.

“What are you, Spider-loser number two?” 

A low, dark chuckle that actually echoed over the crackling of electricity and yelling rolled from the figure, his white eyes narrowed. He stepped closer.

“You should have stayed clean, Max,” as he came closer wisps of blackness grew and twisted around him and extended further and further from his body.  
Electro eyed him, silent now, not yelling and spitting sparks. He could see the temperature around the figure as normal, but the boy himself was...cold, colder than a corpse, showing up almost completely black against the multicolored background of the street. Any enforcers who were still standing and bystanders also locked onto him, waiting to see what this newcomer will do.  
An inhuman hiss escaped from him.

“I'm not so forgiving any more.”

Electro snorted mockingly, “Ooh, scary, Halloween's not here yet kid, buzz off.” He hurled a bolt casually at the little spider to scare him off. A bright flash illuminated the area, it faded leaving behind a scorched patch on the concrete

Oh crap, Max thought, did he just fry the wannabe into nothing? He squinted to see if his eyes were working properly, but he saw nothing.

“Oh well,” he shrugged, his own fault for trying to be a hero, obviously all talk and no talent. Electro had half turned when the voice spoke again, this time, the sound surrounded him and everything in the vicinity.

“You never learn, Max.”

The street lamps shut off one by one until a whole two blocks were blanketed in darkness except for the two lamps on either side of the villain. He appeared to be alone, he couldn't hear the cops or the sounds of the city. Max could see the streets further ahead still lit up. This would've been a great opportunity to make his escape but he suddenly felt a sense of dread, reluctant to tread across the black expanse. He shook his head trying to fling the fear from his mind, it was stupid, this wasn't some horror movie, just some kid with weird powers probably. He trudged towards the edge of the light, stopping just short of where it faded out into darkness.  
He took a breath as quietly as he could, just some parlour trick, just some stupid kid.  
He straightened up and tried to look confident before taking a step out. It had gotten frighteningly cold with the absence of light but otherwise, nothing happened. He dared himself to go on. Nothing wrong, he kept repeating to himself, the kid is bluffing, probably some mutant too. He was beginning to feel more sure of himself and made it a few metres before something snaked out and snatched his ankles from under him, sending him falling face down into the cold pavement.

“He sat up, “Alright you little snot, I'll make you regret that!”

There was no answer. Max scrambled to his feet and attempted to continue on, moving just a little bit faster.

“Not scared, not scared, 'specially not of some stupid kid in a stupid costume,” he gritted through his teeth.

But just as he'd gotten several more feet away something glided in from behind him and knocked him over the head hard, down on his face again. Max groaned as he lifted his head, vision doubling. Then the two lamps that were previously lit flickered dead and he felt his ankles being snagged and he was yanked back harshly further away from the lights on the other street. He lashed out at whatever was pulling him only for a smoky figure to slink out of sight, the vice grip along with it. He'd had enough of playing peek-a-boo with this brat, he slammed his hand down into the ground and let of a burst of electricity which illuminated the area and channelled into any nearby lights, turning every single one of them on. The darkness retreated like a sentient cover and the noise from the city hit his ears again.

“What the-?” he breathed. SWAT teams, police and innocent bystanders looked at him as though he'd gone mad, for a moment they saw him stop like a freeze frame before he started flailing about like an idiot. 

He spun full circle, looking for the boy.

“I've had about enough of your crap, come out you little freak!”

“I'm right here.”

Electro turned to see him standing a good distance away. Staring at him.  
The wisps around his body grew into writhing shadows that surrounded and licked around the black figure who dropped into a half-crouch, his shoulder's hunched forward as he regarded the villain, head cocked. Wordlessly, the boy in black began to advance, his pace increased in a matter of seconds when he suddenly blurred and had jumped right in Max's face, so close Max actually felt the ice cold emanating from the boy. He yelped before a clawed hand seized his head, those claws which noticed now where razor sharp, making the fingers look abnormally long, enclosed his head almost completely.

He was too shocked to react as those white eyes came closer and examined him again, with cold curiosity. Max snapped out of his shock and narrowed his own eyes. If it weren't for the mask, he'd look the sucker in the eye and spit profanity.  
He made a motion with one arm, charging it into a ball of bright energy, he grinned manically as he punched the other squarely in the chest. Temporarily blinded by the close proximity of the blast, but his grin grew wider as he imagined the weirdo frying. So much for words.  
He turned back, expecting to see a scorching mess, the air around him obscured by the smoke. He waited.  
Suddenly, something stabbed through the haze and went right through his shoulder, pinning him to the ground. He let out a blood-curdling scream. A second one shot out and skewered him in the other shoulder. He tried to move his arms, attempt to pull them out, but moving just made him scream louder. He dared himself to look.  
Two black insect limbs had buried themselves through muscle and bone and firmly into the concrete.

“I warned you, Max,” a familiar voice said.

In his pain, memories of that voice flickered through Electro's terrified brain, “Spider-man.”

He heard the dark chuckle again, no darker. Something absolutely wrong about it. A face moved past the smoke and the mask or mask-like thing, retracted like black smoke, revealing his face. Max's eyes went wide as he gurgled out nonsense. The face of the kid who died on the bridge, smiled maliciously, sharp teeth glinting against his lips.

“Spider-man isn't here any more.”

“Yeeeaaaaarrrgh!” Max screamed as the limbs dragged upwards, dangling him limply into the air. Two more stabbed right through his calf, right through bone and hoisted him up to face the ground.

“Please, please, let me go, I won't do this again, I swear. I'll stay off the streets, keep out of trouble, I'll even turn over a new leaf, please!” he babbled, pain was blurring with the numbness of the cold black legs, seeping into his flesh. Max could've sworn he'd never felt this cold and terrified in his life.

The boy made no response as he positioned the screaming man above him, watching with rust eyes. A predator playing with prey. Two more legs sprouted from his back and angled themselves up. Aiming for the soft belly.

“No...oh god no, no no n-” Max cut off with a horrid shriek.

Everybody there watched with horror as the boy sliced Electro's belly open, raining guts and blood on him. He tilted his head up as he let the gore shower him, his suit seemed to absorb the blood.  
Peter stood there with a dark grin, licking a few drops from his lips. The edges of the writhing suit crawled back over his face, unrecognisable, inhuman, brutal. 

Police aimed their trembling guns at him, stuttering out the usual law enforcer procedure. He grunted in amusement and flung the bloodied body at them.

“Have your prisoner,” he barked out, “But you won't need a cell for him.”

He turned away from them while some side-stepped the body and focused their attention on him, a few doubled over and hurled the contents of lunch and mid-afternoon snacks on the pavement. They turned their guns on him now, hands shaking with fear and horror. Every minuscule movement from him made them jump.

“You're not going anywhere!”

Suddenly, with the danger gone, the press moved in rapidly, trying to get the best shot of the crook killer and the body. Voices prattled on around Peter, and he hesitated for a moment, looking up around him and taking a deep breath.  
The smell of the hype crazed, media driven city filling his lung, it almost felt like home again. Almost inevitably, the one man would…

“Spider-man!”

...show up. He turned his head to the voice, where J. Jonah Jameson stood, camera crew probably followed him as the zoomed in on him from behind the man. The old man, he could remember all the times he was an obnoxious bastard, cigar clamped between his teeth while he scowled so much his face permanently looked like a pit bull's. All the lies, all the venom in the newspaper headlines with Spider-man's name on it and people lapped it up. Spat at him, treated him like a true pest, all for business and profit. Everybody loves a scandal.  
The old man wore the same overcoat Peter remembered but he had no cigar, no scowl or hateful expression, just pure horror and, just underneath if Peter stared long enough, regret.

“Hello, Jameson.”

The mask turned to smoke and pulled back from Peter's face, a crooked smile plastered on. Camera's flashed, voices raised and some brave journalists dared to yell out questions to him.

Is that Spider-man?

He's so young…

Did you get the shot? Did you get his face?

Spider-man! Over here, who are you really?

Why unmask now? 

What's with the new suit?

Peter ignored them all, his gaze trained on Jameson as if there was no one else in that moment in the world but them. Jameson had questions, hundreds of questions in his head but he didn't know where to start.

“You can call me by name, it doesn't matter to me any more.”

Jameson swallowed, realizing that he was being invited to talk. He made a motion to his crew to back off a little before taking a step towards Peter. Cautious now from all the eyes focused on them.

“You have questions,” Peter stated knowingly. Jameson nodded.

“You were gone for a year, kid, everybody's got questions.”

The cluster of press and reporters huddled in closer intent on hearing whatever words this new vigilante had, cameras focused in on him. Somehow, they were all assuming that the conversation between them was work related and no one suspected the personal association with the webslinger. Peter frowned with irritation, the flashes beginning to get on his nerves. Too bright.

“You died,” Jameson recalled hesitantly, “You were gone for a year.”

“And what proof do you have?” Peter asked cocking his head to the side feigning a surprised look.

“Damn it kid, it was live all over the news.”

Peter chuckled, sarcastic and dark, if Jonah had closed his eyes, he could almost picture the same voice that used to annoy him except it wasn't genuine or innocent any more. Peter sounded so much older now, like he'd been eroded on the inside and become bitter like an old man. He shifted positions and into a partial bow, one arm curled at his chest before he unfurled the hand before him, letting out a breath, fangs bared, the sound magnifying in volume. Black smoke travelled from him over his hand and surrounded them, bystanders shouting in fright attempted to shield themselves from the unknown vapor as it swallowed the closest ones whole including Jameson.  
Jameson looked around him, he saw through the haze like a one way window, civilians scrambled around in panic around the dome of blackness. He saw other people who had been swallowed in the smoke with him in cut off bubbles running around in terror, clawing at the barrier. But otherwise, he was alone with Peter in their own sphere of darkness, Peter's eyes shining dark red against it.

“There,” Peter said with a flourish, “No interruptions.” 

“My god, Peter, what-

“Relax, I've just rid us of the cameras and nosy parkers,” Peter giggled at the irony of the joke before recovering himself, “Temporary, of course.”

“What are you?”

Peter paced right and left, his piercing eyes staring straight through the old man every so often. His movements like animalistic and predatory.

“Good question, Jameson, but that's always been an opinionated one, isn't that right? Only your impression of Spider-man matters.”  
Peter stepped toward the edge of the sphere, watching New Yorkers outside trying to grasp the bizarre situation taking place, the trapped ones huddled away from the walls, some on the ground in a ball.

“People aren't judged on what they claim to be or who they want to be, always what people think of them. Ideally, their actions show their character, and normally an opinion is formed from other people's impression of them but we both know that isn't how it works.”

Peter stopped pacing for a moment giving Jameson a side gaze, his smile was unreadable, “No, it's what people hear about them, what others tell them is where judgement is made. How many times had people thought of me as the menace you told them I was am believed it? How many times were my attempts to help shot down because people were told the big bad spider was dangerous and a threat to society?”

“Look at them, no one to tell them what is going on and yet they already have an idea of what this is, just as it should be,” Peter pointed at the ones curled up and waiting, “They're trapped but still alive. They know there's hope in that,” he spotted one sobbing into himself, “Or not at all.”

He pushed away from the walls to pace once more while Jameson watched, speechless. 

“Humans are by nature creatures of reason, they can make their own answers and share information, it's what made us unique. But in chaos, that information is lost, twisted into half truths or complete lies. And all it takes is someone with the power to direct them,” Peter stopped and cast a sideways glance at the old man, “For good or ill.”

Jameson was sweating, the mentions of his past deeds putting him at his most uncomfortable and he felt that it was wholly intentional.

“All. You. Needed to do, was write an article and throw it on the front page, and your readers ate it up like pigs.”

Jameson tried to say something, gums flapping pathetically like a fish out of water. He was scared, he couldn't hide it, he tried but it was obvious Jameson was scared because with every word Peter's voice was getting more deadly, almost as if he would spit venom at any point. And the darkness that pulsed and shifted around them didn't help keep his nerves. Peter could see the fear in his eyes and softened a little.

“But I'm not here to discuss past grievances, you want to know? Why don't you form your own answer?”

Peter grinned again, “Maybe put it in tomorrow's paper?”

Jameson shook himself out of his terrified stupor, “I-I didn't mean...I won't-”

Peter eyed him with an arched brow. Jameson let out a defeated breath, regulating his breathing as he reorganized the words in his head.

“I was wrong, Peter, I did it for the ratings, my reputation and newspaper relied on that so I thought you'd make great front page material.”

He swallowed.

“But I put you up as a target, instead of making you a hero, I made you a joke, the bad guy and yeah, it was for the ratings because people want to have something to point the finger at.”  
“But that's only half the truth, the truth is I chose to penalize you for being Spider-man because of my own insecurity. I, didn't like the fact that a kid like you thought you could go out there being all hero because you had powers, I was wrong.”

Jameson made a move towards Peter, his hands before him in a gesture of sincere apology trying to seek some sort of humanity somewhere in those red-brown eyes. 

“I'm sorry, I was so wrong, so wrong about you.”

Peter said nothing.

He stared, regarding the old man before turning his eyes elsewhere, looking absent-mindedly into the distance as if processing this information. Jameson had a uneasy feeling. Peter just stood there silently gazing at nothing for the longest three minutes in his life, held on suspense, hoping for forgiveness. Hoping to be pardoned.

Somehow.

Peter smiled, a smile that was so innocent for a moment, it was like looking straight into the face of a child. The smile that one could completely trust in.

Peter finally opened his mouth, “I suppose this is where you tell me 'I was a hero all along, I save lives and fought for them' and that people need me, correct.”

Then the smile turned feral and struck horror straight into Jameson's heart like ice water being poured over him after he'd been covered in warmth. The boy's expression chilling him to the bone and devoid of all things human.

“Guess what, that's not why I came back, I'm not here to save lives and protect humans.”

Peter spat the word 'human' like it disgusted him.

“I'm here to take them, and occasionally make an example of whomever crosses my path the wrong way,” he hissed gesturing at the gored body of Electro.

“Oh god, no, that's not true, Spider-man doesn't kill...”

Suddenly, he was blind for a moment, like someone had turned off all the lights for half a second, and Peter was right up in his face, one finger on his lips, “Shhhh.”

Peter stepped backwards, body swaying.

“Oh but I do, Jameson, and newsflash, I'm not Spider-man any more, Spider-man is dead,” Peter cackled, the black mist around them shifting and twisting around them erratically, while the screams of horror could be heard outside. Gunfire popping.

“Put that on the headlines, the public will love it.”

Then the mist pulled in around Peter and wrapped him up completely, spiralling until it had disappeared with him, only his laugh echoing in Jameson's ears.  
He looked around at the police searching the area for signs of Peter and one officer put her hand on his arm, causing him to jump. She was questioning him, something about his welfare, but he couldn't process her words. His legs just gave way under him and he fell flat on his behind, still in shock. The people who were trapped were fine, as the boy had promised but probably traumatized for life.

“-son…Jam...ameson...,” someone was calling to him, “Jameson!”

His head whipped up. Betty was holding him by the arm with concern on her face, the camera guy behind her who looked like he'd just spent tonight watching a horror movie, most likely he'd gone to take a close-up of the body which was now being zipped up in a body bag, “We lost you in there, we thought...”

Jonah shook his head, trying to shake off the shock, Peter's words still echoing, those eyes which we dead inside, “I-I'm fine, Betty, but I'm going to need time, this...this is on the front page tomorrow.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of an execution and confrontation once again with the Avengers and his best friend

As news spread fast of the incident, the whole city was thrust into chaos over the ambiguity of just how much of the newcomer could be trusted. Much to the horror of anyone from the hero community when they turned on their TV's. The Avengers were present with Sue and Johnny also in the room while they'd been trying to smooth out tensions. Ben was busy trying not to obstruct anyone's path. Reed wasn't present, he was off doing research again.

“There is uproar over the event from the previous night. Max Dillon otherwise known as Electro was cornered by police in an attempted robbery that had left multiple officers injured or in critical condition and three dead when a new vigilante arrived bringing the night to a gruesome turn. This 'new Spider-man' was seen butchering the criminal, right on camera...,” a clip taken from last night showed Peter goring Electro to death and 'showering' in his blood, there was no other way to describe it, Sue looked like she was going to be sick, “...before taking the public by surprise. A, black mist could be seen surrounding the area, trapping a few civilians for almost thirty minutes before it finally dissipated, the individual responsible was nowhere to be seen. No one appeared to be hurt by the mist. Speculation on who or what he is has been put forward by various witnesses.”

The screens switched over to different New Yorkers being interviewed on the matter

An old lady with a small dog said in a shaky voice, “I think he's a demon, I'm sure of it, that young man has this horrible feeling about him. He's a DEMON!”

“Man, I don't know what I think about this dude really, he's scary and all but he didn't actually hurt anyone, well except for that Electro guy that was just plain nasty,” a young black man on his skateboard said casually.

“Anybody saying that he's evil is wrong. He saved my life when all I was too scared to move, I would've been squashed if he hadn't stopped that car. He's scary but I owe him my life,” said a young lady in a waitress uniform.

Th footage recorded has revealed the brutal legend to be true and that this myth has a face,” the enhanced shot of Parker's face was blown up on the screen, eyes dark and bloody red glowing past his bangs, “A young man estimated to be no older than sixteen though no one has been able to identify him yet, investigators are pushing the public to come forward with any information on the boy. In the meantime, police are now issuing a city wide alert against him labelling this new 'Spidey' as a murderer and a dangerous threat. People are continuing to debate whether he is a threat, Do we have a superhero or a psychopath?”

The TV shut off.

“Superhero or psychopath, that's a new one,” Ben slurred over rocky lips, he's always had some trouble speaking certain syllables with his awkward physiology but not as difficult as the rest of the gang, who were either staring at the blank screen, down on the floor or out the window. The silence was almost too uncomfortable for Ben.

“Welp, going to get get m'self another beer,” he strained out as he got off the couch to go fishing in the freezer for a bottle. Purposefully ignoring the tension hanging in the air, he never was one for contemplating or tense silences.

“We have to bring him in,” the Captain finally said. Johnny almost fell over himself at his words, it sounded like threat or at least the promise of pain.

“What? No! You're going to hurt him aren't you?” he said defensively, Sue put a hand on his arm to prevent him from lunging forwards.

“No, we're not,” Steve said, then clipped himself off as if thinking about correcting that answer then let out a sigh, “I'd rather not but I can't guarantee that won't change.”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring, because you're doing a crap-ass job of it.” 

“Look, I don't like this any more than you do but as you can see Peter isn't the Spider-man we all once knew, he's killed people.”

Johnny made a mocking snort of laughter, “Oh like you haven't.”

Steve pinched the bridge of his nose, “That was different, I fought against sick evil people, he could move on to innocents, we can never tell.”

“Are you saying you haven't hurt innocent people before?” Johnny snapped before biting the comment back, too late. That was a foot over the line and Johnny knew it, regrettably.  
Steve looked like he was at a complete loss, he was trying not to choke on something in his lungs.  
The look of terror on those faces who were caught in the middle of madmen's war, the lost look on a young lady as she desperately searched around the survivor camp, asking every soldier about her husband and brother. The sickening grief as he found a young boy and girl who whose hands intertwined in unrealized passion that was theirs as a young man and lady, forever fused together as the bomb dropped only a few blocks away.  
He looked away for a second, trying to hide his eyes while he gathered himself. The young man stood awkwardly like a boy who'd been caught doing something bad, at this point he was aware that Sue could no longer insert herself into the argument, no matter how her mouth flopped open uselessly.

“I'm...sorry, that was completely out of line, I just...”

“No, Johnny, when you look at it that way, it was no different, just the patriotic pride that made it seem right. Still, I'd been trying to bury those ghosts for a long time.”

“I hope I didn't dig them all out.”

Steve smiled wryly, “No, not all.”

“I'm sure you didn't mean to...you know, I'm sure it was all an accident...”

“Yes, yes they were accidents.” Accidents that he swore to never let happen again. His role that he'd chosen was not fighting a war against man, but protecting them.

Johnny flopped down on the coach with relief. Steve felt sorry for the both of them, it was one thing to be taking lives but watching the closest person to him perform so mercilessly must be the worst shock to the system. For a moment he'd almost wanted to be angry for digging up those memories. But he was more angry at himself for adding Peter to their collection of phantoms. He was fairly certain both Natasha and Clint had enough of those as he did.  
His eyes darted around for Tony when he realized Tony wasn't here, but in the men's room, probably needing time out after the spectacle on TV. There goes his witty support.  
The verdict remained the same, they needed to pay Peter a visit before he claimed another victim.

“We have to find him,” he directs this at everyone, each member, friend, comrade nodding in assent, sans sarcastic, billionaire playboy probably still retching up his lunch. He looks to Johnny. He needs to hear it from him the most. Needs to hear it from Johnny because he was closest to the boy. He looks to him because he can't risk insensitively breaking another young hero.

Johnny takes a moment, considers his options, and nods. They proceed to game plan.

 

Darrian always said that given his level, Peter was one of the reckless ones. The others not so much. They listened and followed more than, most of them had been at this for far longer than the two of them combined, some were trained while others simply knew they did not hold any authority to make judgements of action.  
Peter however, was never one to stay in the box. He'd scuttle his way out, add his own flare or just go on his merry way the way he wanted. It didn't bother any of them back in the Valleys but it carried his own repercussions as he discovered after the one night spectacle. It was satisfying gutting that annoying bastard, but his legend was spreading like wildfire. Perhaps, retreat from this world was in order. 

He could see the collection of last nights kill playing over the big screen and no doubt, the entire Superhero community would've caught on to it. No telling how many would be hot on his trail now.  
Peter's second skin slithered over his body, his finger flexing. Making doors was tough for him, tricky to build, exhausting to maintain for a certain period of time and leaving him vulnerable. The way back and forth between Istavasa and his homeworld was all he could manage every so often.  
He lifted his hands and let them bend and waver through the air as black silk spun through the tips of his fingers, arcing and cutting until he'd left an outline of a black box in the rooftop concrete.  
Now the hardest part, he closed his eyes as a silent chant left his lips, repeating again for a few times, a writhing bubble of purple energy pulsed around him, swirls of black and blue tinting his aura. His arm had lifted a fraction before a voice broke through his concentration.

“PETER!”

He hissed and the aura around him collapsed like shattered glass, cursing the intruders, his eyes widened and narrowed as he turned to see the Avengers, Johnny rushing to the front to face him.  
Damn it, Peter thought, he should have done this much earlier.

“You...” he growled, not even bothering to mask his disdain.

“Peter, we saw what you did last night, you have to stop.”

“Stop? I'd be performing poorly at my job if I stopped,” Peter said mockingly. Again with the cryptic talk of his new job or whatever it was, Johnny needed to get to the bottom of Peter's new identity of a murderous vigilante/mercenary and he had a feeling that Steve would want to know as well.

“You completely eviscerated Electro, Parker, one of you're own rogues.”

 

“I got lucky, it's not everyday one of my most annoying powered criminals land their names on my list and let me tell you,” he examined his claws with a look of satisfaction, recalling how it felt as they tore through soft tissue and bone, hearing that overcharged, brainless meatbag scream for real for the first and last time, he grinned, all teeth, “It felt real good.”

Johnny's face flashed with horror briefly before he forced it down, he took a tentative step towards his best friend, “You don't kill Pete, I know you, you don't kill and you've never liked that thought, my best friend is not a killer.”

Steve took the moment to speak up, “We're here for you, Peter. You're not well and we just want to help you, bring you back. We can help you but we need you to trust us.”

The Captain had also taken a step forward which was met by a viscous hiss from the boy, an inhuman sound. It forced both Johnny and Steve to step back as he bared his sharp teeth at them. In that one motion, Johnny felt a cold fear rising and crushing around his chest as he saw Peter lost all traces of humanity, everything that was his precious friend, his Peter Parker completely lost to a his dark self in that one second.

“Trust you? My biggest mistake was trusting you,” Peter snarled, “When I'd gotten my powers, I spent so long trying to hide them, so people wouldn't label me freak, make me more of an outcast than I already was, maybe hunt me like a mutant. I lost Jenny because I still didn't have the guts to do anything. And for a long time, I thought, I wish I didn't have powers at all, so I didn't have to bear the guilt, the regret of knowing I could've saved her but was too afraid. Then I heard you say one day, 'It doesn't matter what people label you or think of you, all that matters is doing the right thing and protecting the innocent'. I became Spider-man because you gave me hope, gave me a mask and you taught me to keep going no matter how the public saw me, even if I screwed up.  
I didn't care what the newspapers said, or question myself when the police tried to arrest me on false charges, I didn't even care that NONE of you, tried to back me up. I told myself, that you had so much to do, so much responsibility that there was no way I was on the priority list.”  
Heads hung in shame as he spelled out their guilt, the part they played in neglecting the budding hero. He stabbed at them with his words, Johnny watching in shock as venom spewed from his lips like a burning spray.

“I told myself, that it would all change if I could join the Avengers, become recognised and then I won't have to run or hide any more. I could finally protect innocents like I'd promised Jenny over her damned corpse. All I'd ever wanted, was to be part of your team, be a hero.”

A familiar, heartbroken look clouded over those brown eyes.

“But I didn't cut it did I? I must've looked so crazy rambling about things I was seeing, losing my mind over it. That's not team material. But that was fine too. So the last thing I just wanted was for you to believe me, be there when I needed you...”

Steve had never looked so lost, his training as a soldier was dropping along with the walls he'd placed between himself and emotion.

“But that couldn't be fulfilled, not even my last request.” 

He turned his gaze to Johnny “Not my best friend.” 

...Then to each Avenger and Fantastic Four, “Not my idols.”

He fixed his deep red gaze on Steve, “Not even my hero was there.”

A force like hammer hit them, forcing them back, Black Widow would've flown out of sight if Tony hadn't caught her, Clint took cover behind a chimney while Sue and Ben were huddled, everybody else was blown straight off except for Steve who planted his shield straight into the concrete, grabbing hold of Johnny and pulling him back behind the shield.

“I should thank you, dying alone made the transition so much easier,” Peter raised his arm again and the energy shot straight through it and towards the webbed box. A warping door opened up, roaring in everyone's ears. He got ready to jump through.

“Oh god, Tony!” Steve yelled.

“On it,” Iron man adjusted the frequency in his beams and aimed all in a split second. The laser that shot out whizzed past Peter and straight at the door, hoping to destroy it. Instead, it seemed to be absorbed into the vortex and with a groan, the warping energy inside changed, from all shades of swirling blue, to chaotic fragment of greens and purples. Peter spun and let out an inhuman screech.

“What the hell did you do?!”

Without thinking, Johnny jumped out from his cover and lunged straight at the Spider, “Pete!” 

Weakened, the Peter reacted too slowly and they both got flung through the door, while the rest of the heroes watched in shock. Sue screamed after her brother and tried to run after him, but the door was already collapsing.

In just a few seconds, the chaos was sucked in along with the dimension door and they flew, stood, lay in deafening silence.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone ask for Deadpool? You get Deadpool.

Today is a great day, breakfast was awesome as ever (those mexican food trucks are a gift to the world), sunshine all around bring up the temperature to sweltering which has made me smell oddly worse than usual, rotting flesh and so on but hey, on the plus side, I get an eye full of hot babes in shorts and skin tight outfits like it's Friday night all over the place and I get to feel their hands on my face when the slap me. Oh and I helped bust a mugger [shot him actually]. It's a damn fine day.  
I lie back on my less than stellar conditioned couch, making a point to avoid that loose spring that's been poking out of the cushion a little further back (point, get it?)[Very mature]. 

“Let's see what's on TV,” the moment if flicks on I'm on the TV shopping channel, and of all the things they could be showcasing, it's a taco machine, a reaaallly nice looking taco machine.

“Don't miss your chance now, this is a once of deal you just can't pass up, a taconator, Deadpool,”I'm nodding in agreement with the marketer on TV.

“Uh-huh, yes sir!”

“It's got all the functionalities of a grill and toaster in one, you can make flawless tacos, yourself, in the comfort of your own home and all for just $399, Wade, $399! Call now and get yourself a taconator.” The phone is in my greasy hands and I am dialling away.

“Hi, I'd like to reserve an order for one, no make that three taconators please[what are we doing with three?]...I'll pick them up on Tuesday, yeah no, the next, that's in five days, perfect I'll see you then.”

My hands are rubbing together like some evil Einstein, because baby, I'm getting a taconator and what's better than one taconator? Three taconators. Hohoho, this is more awesome than the pancake piles I make in the morning. [But wait. You're broke.] That can be fixed easy-peasy.

I reach out for the beer-stained sheet, actually there's a couple more stains on it from I don't know what (suspicious brown stain might be Fido's butt), writing's still legible, “Let's see, eat tacos, check, kick the dog, check, kick the bum, check, consult list of jobs, wait...the other list.”

I reach back out over the couch, with the pointy spring actually getting me this time. Hurts like a bitch, I'd make an inappropriate joke right now if-

Ah screw it, “Damn and I thought getting jabbed in the butt was fun.”

Inappropriate joke made, back to the list. I looked through the long ass lines of crossed out jobs, going down the page one by one and shock and horror, there were no jobs for little ol' me [that's what happens when you make bloody mess out of twenty percent of them] (and the other thirty percent totally on purpose!) . If this was a nine to five job at the local dive then it wouldn't bother me, but Wade Fucking Wilson is a mercenary for hire and the shits and giggles, and this wasn't going down. Time to make a few calls (Ring Ring).

An hour later.

They blew me off, those fuckers totally blew me off! 'Nothing for you' my ass they're keeping all the good stuff from me, well, sure I might've screwed up a few assignments but that was totally uncool. 

“Motherfucker!”

I unloaded a few into my dingy coach for stress relief, the damn thing won't collapse with a few more bullet holes in it. That is, like, three seconds later, the whole thing literally implodes [There goes our only coach](*sniff* You've served us well amigo). Ah hell, good day went dipping just there so I sit in the wreck, OW, and mope. 

“Well, someone just scripted me to fail, always the joke of the community punching bag, nothing new. Gotta be someone who's looking for a wise-cracking, head-busting, gun fuck loving gentlemen like me to take care of all their troubles, maybe Weazel might have some info,” I go through my contacts again.

“I just gotta thank you Mr...”

“Locke.”

“Mr. Locke for this opportunity, you won't BUH-lieve how much this means to me,” I'm probably creeping the guy out and lying through my teeth right now [You weren't that desperate]. But I know me, zero patience and first thing on the list is my first choice. The guy doesn't even turn around though, and I'm pretty sure he just 'hmphed' me.

“Yes, I'm sure you are absolutely hysterical but as I said before, payment only applies after you finish the job.”

“Yup, yesiree.”

“We are a serious organization, Wilson, and we expect results of an acceptable quality, I would have thought twice about hiring you if our contact wasn't so insistent, he's a very reliable person and I hope you prove the same.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I'm sure you already have the brief, but it stands to caution that I remind you what you should be doing, blah blah blah blah-”

By now, I am completely distracted and spazzing out over the damn place, I mean, wow, these guys know how to run a business and make it look good. Couldn't expect more from a secret money laundering shark corporation myself. The whole room is decked out and classy, the walls are hardwood paneling, the carpet looks lush and regularly pampered way more than my underwear. Not a lot of pictures though, a couple of really smart looking geographic stuff but that's just about it.

“Impressed? This is taste of what we have, there are much more...valuable items on offer, if you will, Karl.” Locke presses a switch under his desk from god know where and the guy who's been standing by the door like a statue finally moves and walks over to the side of the room (holy shit, this is like Jason Bond style)[except these aren't the good guys]. 

“We're done for now, Karl will deal with whatever else you need.”

The guy, Karl waits a bit and shoots me the coldest eyes like some robot before going in, guess that's my cue to follow. Inside though, it's way weirder than any museum I've blown up. I've seen smuggling rings like this but these guys deal with way more and way stranger. So apparently they smuggle 'exotics', exotics being, wait for it, mystical objects, like this little box on a pedestal, pretty cool looking though, all these swirls and stuff carved into it. The next glass case is a freakin' coffin, well, the fancy coffins for ancient kings or something and I can tell because it's got a face on it (I'd tap that), some symbols on it and there's a sign that says don't open in triple exclamation!!! [nope, don't do it, bad idea](we all want to know who's behind coffin number one!)[remember what happened last time](nearly brought about the apocalypse? It was SWEET!) Almost right away, I'm reaching for the bad boy.

“Touch that and you're dead.”

I'm snickering at the irony, I mean, I AM MOTHERFUCKING DEADPOOL, I've been all sorts of dead and not dead. Kinda works out, you know.  
Okay so we continue on, and the exhibition ranges from cool looking artefacts to living, breathing (swimming) creatures. I know aliens exist but from the looks of them, only some of them are aliens. A two headed dog, A lion, goat-headed thing with a snake's tail, some giant-size beetle with arms instead of insect legs (Eugh!), right, not the best looking of the bunch but as we're walking, we run into some sweet lady monsters. There's literally a half goat half woman behind one glass, I give her the wiggling eyebrows, they all love wiggling eyebrows[I think she just rolled her eyes at you]. Then we have a green monster lady who don't look so good though like they're barely keeping her alive, a half tiger who's been leaving scratches in his cage, some half fish dude with gills and the works and then a god damn full size aquarium complete with sea life and a mermaid, hoo mama. Seriously how do they keep all these in here. Instinct tells me these were all hunted down to be sold off to some rich bastards like some diabolical and totally illegal American version of Count D's shop. Know what I mean? No? Ah whateves. By now we've gotten through two hallways and there were about twenty more doors leading to who knows where, probably more of the merchandise. If that guy wasn't giving me the stink eye, I'd be opening those babies like no tomorrow [doors you mean] quiet you!

“You objective is clear, all we ask is that you safely and carefully transport the goods out of the states to your destination, payment will await you on your next visit and if you do a good job, we may consider hiring you again.”

I nod like a schoolgirl about to drive her daddy's car. Karl just nodded to the next guy who'd been standing next to a pretty big metal box, like 'right up to my hips' big and about yay wide. I'd say there's got to be some wild animal in there or something, it's wrapped up quite tightly, and I had to stop myself before I started trying to annoy the thing inside right in front of my employers. Not that I'm not making a stunning debut right now.

“Gotta say, I'm a little...”

“Disappointed? You've seen enough for now, this one needs high level of restraint compared to most of the other items.”  
“You have your own transport, take it to our clients at any expense and under no circumstances are you to open the containment, not even to look, understood?”

 

Not a day at this and I've lost my truck that I totally did not steal. [you blew it up along with the gas station] Aw, come on, a shoot out's a shoot out, we always get caught in the middle of something (not a threesome we haven't) one for the bucket list. Someone really wanted us to fail today, and usually I'm not one to complain but REALLY?! Can't give poor Deadpool, the merc with a mouth, best (anti)hero in this universe and downright [ahem] gorgeous booty to boot, a happy ending for once?!  
And as usual no answer. Which means I'm being ignored.  
Now, stuck in the middle of nowhere with a big goddamn metal box with no truck and no help...ah, when did I ever need help, time to haul this baby across the wastes.

Okay, okay. Bad idea. Must've only gotten about half a mile and this is already turning into the most intense workout under the summer sun. 

“Razzin, Frazzin, Brazzin...” Goddamn summer. I should have 'borrowed' Stark's jets then blow it up later for the heck of it. And here I was hoping to get this done and get rich and get babes, oh yeah, I can see them right now, that's it, whoa watch the hands, prickly aren't you?

“Haha...wait,” [congratulations, you've molested a cactus], “sigh.”  
I bet I could get out of the states faster than one of rich boy's birds if only I could lose the fucking steel. The wise words of Karl instantly echo in my head like a mantra “Do not open the box...,” naw that's too short the guy talks more than my dead dog, “Do not open the box...unless in an emergency”. There better.  
I look at it, then look around and back at the box (cue the tumbleweed). 

“Okay this, is an emergency, no way can I carry this all the way to god know where [you mean too lazy to], actually where am I supposed to be taking this again?”

Something about Balboa (does that even exist?!)[not since we last looked at a map](which one?!)

“Screw it, let's crack this baby open.” 

After maybe thirty minutes of trying to pry the fucking thing apart, I'm beat. And it hasn't budged.

“That's some damn tight security there, what could they be hiding inside, hmm? Damn, I'm itching to find out.”

I tried a crowbar, a rock, my freaking favorite knife[more where that came from] and it still wouldn't give. I stroke along the tops and sides, probably a switch somewhere. I tap it twice.

Tap. Tap.

“Whoa, did that thing just tap back,” I do it again, four times.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Oh cool, okay, so semi-intelligent, this is gonna be sweet. Hold on honey, Daddy will break you out of that nasty box in no time,” I hope it's a cat. Then, like, the thing starts tapping by itself on the other side. Short taps in succession with a few drawn out ones in between. I tap back once, twice.

It taps the same thing out again.

“Sonuva-, this kitty knows Morse! Oh I am so keeping you,” I listen in again.

“Over here,” it taps out. So I walk to the other side of the box and rap at the metal. Then it makes a different message.

“Hidden lever, lower right beside the sealed panel.”

“Holy shit,” it's right, I felt around the side and sure enough, if I just peel away a few nails I get it open but only like, half way. The box pops open a tiny bit, enough for a small cat to get through but probably not enough for the Morse code kitty. I take a peek inside.  
So far I couldn't see anything, it was way too dark for me to make out a tiny detail, and I'd just about poked my nose into it and a second later claws were going straight for my face, actually a hand with claws on it attached to a skinny arm, all black and flailing about through the crack. Feeling around probably for the lever, (we could give it something to grab *wink wink*)[that hand hardly looks hand-job worthy right now]. 

“Hmm, I haven't a good hand-job in weeks, I need one.”

Sucks to be it, the lever was just out of reach, haha. Since it couldn't get it, the hand retreated back into the box. A weird sound comes out from it which totally needs investigating, I am betting a blow-job that's some pretty lady hybrid thing in their. Hoo man, fingers crossed.

“Heya in there, need help?” I stand over it, not close enough that it will swipe my face off, quite like my ugly shitty excuse for a face. Actually, I expected whatever it was to start hissing or going at me again but instead, I see its face coming into the light, well just barely.  
Lips, nose, cheeks a forehead with a bit of brunette falling over it and a pretty set of big brown eyes, it's beautiful. (Wait are they red?!)

“Whoa,” it smiles at me like a goddamn deviant, “So this is what they were selling, they were going to make me pass a pretty little thing like you off to some greasy bastards. That's just cruel.”

The thing make a strange purring sound, it's deep and broken with high pitches, “Can't tell if you're a boy or a lady, but I'd definitely do you, beautiful.”

It grins again, all teeth and fangs, and hot damn, Wade Junior down there is liking what he sees. And I haven't even laid eyes on the full package yet. I lean forward a little and sweet thing comes up a little closer.

“Will you promise not to cut my face or my balls off it I get you out of there?”

Nods 

I lift the lever all the way and the box pops open like easter egg cut in half. A body that's completely black and shiny leather stands up with a bonus of a couple of insect legs from its back and it's all happening in slow motion, like something out of Aliens Trilogy.  
It's damn beautiful though, and….male.

“Aww hell, I thought you were a babe!”

The kid grins like a devil though a devil in disguise (or not). And I got the biggest boner of the day.

“Sorry to disappoint.” Oooh, that's one sexy voice, “It seems we both have needs so, shall I make it up to you?”

He start crawling to me, on hand and knees like the biggest pornstar I have ever watched, on second thought this is way better than all the porn I've watched, something about being completely covered in skintight black suit, or maybe that's his skin. Deadpool.exe is due to crash in ten seconds.

“Oh boy, oh boy oh boy oh boy oh boy hoo boy.” (Yeah baby!)[hamanahamanahamana] 

“All I need is one. Little. Bite,” he cuts off and there's weird pinprick in my neck but with him all over me, I just wanna get off. But as I'm loving every second of this, something feels off and suddenly, he's off me and coughing blood. My blood.

“What the-, did you just suck my blood!?”

He's not listening, still hacking up my wasted plasma like he'd drank a bad brew. It's a little jarring right now. The fact that he tried to drain me, forgotten (cuz c'mon, we are suckable)

“Aw come on, I know I'm not the best of the bunch but it can't be that bad.”

“You taste awful, diseased, *hack, ack*!”

“Man, that's just hurtful.” [He's right though](ooh)

A moment later and he's finally stopped heaving up his stomach, and he's suddenly in my face, fingers pushing up my mask before I could say, “You're gonna regret it!” The moment he sees the scars, his eyes just narrow.

“Like what you see?” I say waggling my eyebrows or lack of them. He screws up his nose like he just took a look at a piece of shit [in all fairness, you are a piece of shit.].

“That explains the rotten taste,” he mutters then pulls the mask back over my face, maybe a little too far cuz I can't see now.

When I look again, he's lost all interest me (double whammy!) and was looking off into the distance. He looked irritated especially with the sun blazing down like my damn lamp stuck on high setting, "Where is this place?" he asks, all that sultry tone gone. He's not even looking at me when he asks the question.  
"Probably a good in the middle of Tonopah, pretty sure we're west of Phoenix, we did come all the way from LA, pretty good living there too." [No you weren't](You were moping in your dirty apartment about how broke and jobless you were and how we won't have enough money to enjoy Los Pesca tacos and then you took this job). He looked even more irritated, he's shielding his eyes from the sun and baring his little fangs like he's ready to attack anything, and probably me if I didn't taste like burnt rubber and gone off cheese. Even though the kid isn't cursing everything around him I get the feeling he doesn't like deserts very much, or the sun. Then without another word, he was walking away.

“Looking for something, beautiful? I mean, I could take you wherever you want, I could take you to a lot of places but I mean it'll have to be on foot. My truck's a few miles back and in pieces, but I can make it fun for you.”

"Shut up," he hisses and a spray of black webbing hits me in the face, I scrabble at the inky stuff. Oh my god, webs?! Spider-man?! (Whoa, is he spidey?)[That is unexpected] He's a bit smaller than I remember. 

"UU're Shpirdey?" I say even though it comes out garbled, he shoots me an irritated look before practically stomping right up to me and ripping his work of my face. And it rips off the bottom half of my mask, wow that's some sticky stuff. If that was on my face then I would've probably lost it and not in a fun way. [There's a fun way?](We should try the fun way sometime)

"Spider-man, what are you doing here and what happened to you, and whoa, I didn't know you were that hot under the mask!" I couldn't help it, barraging people with a whole bunch of questions is what I do, my Modus Operandi, actually shooting and slicing is my Modus Operandi but that's for killing specifically. Aaand, he isn't impressed, for a second his eyes turn a little from the hazel brown to...red. Whoa.

“Don't call me by that name and what I want is none of your business,” he says breaking into a power walk, moving a little faster than my mind can believe and he's well into the distance now and fast.

“Aw come on, if you didn't like me calling you Spider-man you coulda just told me, how about darling? Or sweetcakes?!” I try to catch up to him but when I do, suddenly, I black out. The next moment I wake up and realize, I just got sucker-punched. That kid just knocked me out! I look around but he's already long gone, weird kid. The pretty ones always are.

Basically, that left me with walking my ass all the way out into the goddamn sun, thinking I'd hit gold at some point. Thing was, I had no idea where I was going or how far I'd gone, is this even the right direction? No water, no car and no pay if I ever get back into town and just because I can't die doesn't mean I'm not hating this. Tried the hitchhiker method (no bites)[hard to trust a guy wearing a full suit and mask]. Ah well, what a few more brushes with death and man do I miss boning death.(All the puns intended)

Hours and a few deaths by dehydration later, it's night and the temperature drops faster than my pants on a toilet run.

“Great, first dehydration now I can freeze to death and I still don't know where I am! Thanks a lot world, you really are a great pain in the ass, I wish I had my truck.”

 

 _A little while back_  


One of the things that came along with Peter's new...self was sensitivity to various things that normally wouldn't bother an ordinary person, and if it weren't for the sirens blaring in his ear, he might have happily slept on. But as his ears picked up on sounds of the city, from police radios to someone yelling at another. He groaned as he shifted, a dull ache in his side confusing his motor skills. He must have fallen pretty hard. He couldn't tell how long he was out for, a few hours maybe? A few days? His arms and legs ached as though he'd been walking, or crawling, for hours non-stop. He cursed the Avengers for showing up, he cursed Johnny for being the reckless bastard he is and he cursed his trashy luck.  
Just as his consciousness was beginning to clear, he could feel tremors through the ground beneath him. Yes, of all his senses, touch was his strongest, any vibrations in the ground, air or water around him would magnify fifty levels over, maybe a hundred if he really concentrated. And he quickly began to realize that these slight tremors that were growing steadily more intense were footsteps, getting closer and they weren't just passing by, or curious, they were coming for him, he could feel their excitement and anticipation pulsing, the stench of sin.  
His eyes were open but he couldn't see, still, he could judge the direction and distance of their approach with his other senses. He could tell where the light was and where the darkest spots were. He tried to move, melt into the shadows, they were coming for him. What he had not anticipated was the sting of a needle in his side. His hand moved instantly over the irritated area, finding a dart in his skin.

“Tranquillizer? Really?” he thought, nonetheless, it was effective and his consciousness began to fade again. He cursed inwardly for leaving himself open. He can't see, can't move but he is still aware, like a person blindfolded, that he is being moved, carried and put into a vehicle, likely a van from the large space. His extra senses working like an extraneous entity for when his body wasn't able to function, he could detect the bumps on the road, the gentle whirring of the engine below him and also the presence of a few men in the van with him. Their essences pulsing within their bodies that Peter could be salivating right now, only just realizing how starved he was. If his body wasn't out of commission, he might have eaten them all by now. For now, he waited until the chemicals wore off and he could tell where they were taking him. Almost now, he could feel the sleep poison being absorbed and broken down by his blood.  
He could feel a rough hand, calloused with months almost years of gun handling and rope pulling stroke along his body, from his shoulder along his bound arms down to his hip.

“Hands off Tucker, the boss wants him clean and in good condition,” a gruff voice made the hand stop before it went anywhere else.

“What, I'm curious. The boss collects so much of these pretty little things I'm pretty sure he won't notice if I get a little familiar with this one.”

“You sick bastard.”

“Don't tell me you're not curious. The boss has had his eye on this one since he fell out of the sky and went around on spider legs,” Peter is surprised but it seems possible he might have been trapped in delirium a bit longer than he though, “He looks like Spidey but we can all tell he's something else, something about him...is just so…” Peter smiled underneath the black skin as the goon couldn't resist leaning over him, his pheromones kicking in at last, “Such a nice body you got there, I wonder what you look like under the mask.”

Peter could smell the beer on the repulsive as he took a good sniff of his neck, but the hunger and those proximity of his prey overrides his initial disgust. A third arm, unbound extends a little further back from his shoulder and grabs the goon by the neck. Tucker lets out a shocked choked off sound as the claws wrap around his thick neck. The others around them are caught off-guard that they just stare as their target turns to look at Tucker, the black 'mask' turning to smoke recedes to reveal a beautiful, brown-eyed boy, fangs glinting as he smiled devilishly.

“Like what you see?”

Almost instantly his voice has sent everyone around Peter into a dazed, vulnerable state as their eyes become glued on Peter. Tucker's own eyes dilate and glaze over as the rest of the gang is mesmerized, Peter slowly brings him closer and closer, just enough to brush his lips over the goon's. He smiles again before diving in.  
His kiss is hard, cold and hot at the same time, exploring and sucking the man in and for a moment, he enjoy it, he's never gotten lucky enough to kiss a lady unless he had her drugged and the boy is good. He's loving every moment until he begins to realize that he's dying, his blood and soul leaving him in one fast flowing stream, flowing from his mouth to the boy.  
This freak was sucking him dry!  
Tucker struggles at first, his arms pushing and trying to pull away but most of his strength has already left him. He looks over to his comrades, but they are slow to catch on.  
Peter's eyes open to watch as the man pales and darkens into a hollow husk of a person, his essence flowing as river from his gut. Peter could feel his thirst sating, his strength slowly returning. He finally pulled away and let the dry corpse fall. He savours the taste temporarily before the spell is broken and the other henchmen pull out their guns.  
Peter turned to look at each one, grinning.  
Shots ring out through the vehicle before it skids to a stop, the second one behind it halts as well. They all exit and pull out their weapons in confusion. Suddenly the back doors popped open and they all aimed their guns in that direction. What they didn't expect was several dried out husks like prunes to fall onto the road, a few of the goons were definitely unhinged by that, the leader of the second group pulled out his phone to make a call, before panic set in, one clawed leg appeared from the mass of shadows inside the van, testing the ground tentatively. The other leg followed and Peter was in full view.

He looked around. There was no one else around, an abandoned part of the area. Few police here and barely any civilians. Smart, less likelihood of detection. He wasn't really interested in starting a fight with every man here but as Peter made to leave, a single bullet dug itself right into the ground by his foot.

“Don't move, freak, you're not going anywhere.”

Peter seemed more amused than anything else, a toothy grin breaking out across his face once more, a fight it shall be then.


	14. Chapter 14

Sirens and radios blared through the night with police gathered all around the white van, stopping short of the main road which it appeared to have been headed, except, from the looks of the bodies, they never made it.  
Detective Hadsen ducked under barrier, a cup of coffee in his hand, but that didn't stop him from being irritated and disgusted. Well, disgusted seemed to be a permanent thing these days, some days a bad, others are worse, not much he hadn't seen. He was immediately met by sergeant Maud, an good friend of his.

“From the look you got, let me guess, ugly,” Cole said

“That's one way to put it, can I ask you question real quick, how bad was your day?” Maud enquired to Cole's cunfusion.

“The same as every other day, why?”

“It's about to get worse,” Maud led the Detective over to the crime scene, “A dozen men, all heavily armed and very dead, all of them with ID and their wallets, absolutely nothing was taken...except their lives.”

Looking at the scene, everything was intact apart from the few dead men inside the van who were as dry and shrivelled as dead bark and others who were not as dried out but still bore a gaunt look and was pale, even for a corpse. The rest were pulverised and slashed to pieces and were scattered around on the ground just a few feet from the van. Skid marks indicated a second vehicle that had taken off, probably by whoever was responsible.

Hadsen couldn't help but wrinkle up his nose, “What the hell did this?”

“Don't know, no witnesses, no surveillance, my guess? The villain out of the Mummy, what was his name...?”

“Imhotep, thanks, I'll take a look before we send everything off to DA.” Maud gave him a salute efore leaving.  
Cole sighed, another night of freaks to track down. He'd give his good arm for a normal investigation. He sat on his heels, carefully examining the bodies, the lacerations were obvious though unusual, like some animal had gotten to them, but the other ones, especially the shrivelled victims, displayed no obvious wounds or cuts. It was like someone ran them through a large dehydrator meant for people, in seconds.  
He pulled on a glove and reached for what looked like a wallet.

“Hmm,” he hummed curiously, “Paul Kraskowitz.”

“Hey I remember that guy, was convicted for murder and smuggling of contrabands five years ago, and not just one but repeated offences from misconduct to assault,” Maud said over Cole's shoulder.

“What are the chances that these guys were dealing in the bad stuff when this happened?” Cole mused.

“Not sure, you'll have to consult the records for that, this guy was supposed to be on parole, so I'd say his parole officer will be a good place to start.”

They moved over right by the van, opting to take out the tweezers, Cole picked up a sample of what looked like light but really strong black sticky threads. More covered the inside of the van.

“What the hell do you think this is?”

A click and whirring of a camera that was disturbingly close caught both men's attention and they looked over to see a young man in thick-rimmed glasses taking snaps of the scene. Immediately, Sergeant Maud reacted, attempting to apprehend the kid. Cole stopped him and instead approached him carefully, trusting the young man not to run off otherwise they would have more to talk about than just taking restricted pictures at a crime scene.

“Hey, hey, kid!” Cole called in a slightly louder voice to him, the kid jumped a little in shock and glanced around him as if he was expecting the detective to be referring to someone else. Except of course, there was no one else. Cole could see he was quite alarmed, he didn't move to run but he was just about ready to jump out of his skin. Perhaps his tone was a little harsh. Cole softened his attitude and gestured for the young man to step forward. That he did, without hesitating.

“What are you doing here kid? You know this area is cordoned off.”

“Yeah sorry, my boss wanted pictures for the paper and he specifically told me he wanted them right away,” he explained, his voice shaky and nervous. From the looks of it, he was an amateur photographer at best and couldn't hurt a fly even with a gun to his balls. At least Cole could probably rule him off the perp list, for now.

“You tell him this isn't the time for media to poke around the crime scene.”

“Sorry, you don't understand, my job is at stake here, you don't know my boss like I do. Actually, my life is probably on the line if I don't do what he says.”

Cole felt a bit of sympathy for the kid to have come into the clutches of media, which, he knows for a fact are ruthless but what kind of boss sends someone this young to do the risky jobs?

“Shouldn't you be looking for a new job? How old are you kid?”

“Uh, twenty-two, I can't, technically since I'm not out of college yet, and it's hard to find a job. I got lucky when I got one a photographer.”

“Where do you work?”

“Daily Bugle,” the young man replied sheepishly.

“Oh,” Cole could only utter in realization, and outright pitied the poor photographer. He could tell that the head of the Daily Bugle had a penchant for yelling, it was obvious on TV but whether he was a fair or competent boss was something he couldn't tell. Cole could bet his life insurance on the being untrue which made sending this kid away a little harder.  
Cole turned to find the kid had now directed his attention to the scene around him, kneeling over a patch of the sticky black substance.

“Hey don't touch that, we're still investigating the crime scene,” Hadsen yelled but the young man didn't even jump, he seemed to focused on staring at the substance, then he reached down and prodded at it before picking it up. Scrutinizing it with deep concentration. Cole shot his sergeant a look who only returned with a shrug.

“Do know something about it?” Maud asked curiously. 

The photographer turned detective pinched the other side of the black mess and pulled it open, revealing a stringy tangle of inky threads.

“These,” he deliberated for a moment, “are webs.”

Both the detective and sergeant were wide-eyed with confusion and shock, staring at the twenty-two year old like he'd just spoken in an obscure language. Without missing a single beat, the young man turned to them with a sudden spark in his eyes, determined and certain.

“Whoever killed these guys uses webs.”

Maud snapped out of his stupor first, “So you're saying our killer is Spider-man?”

“Or Spider-man clone or something, Spider-man doesn't kill and his webs aren't black,” the young man replied quickly, “From an educated guess. I'd like to say it was Venom but... 

He got up and walked over to the gathered bodies and bent down near one of the dried out corpses, “From what I know Venom eats his victims whole, plus these cuts, are too thin and clean, like they were made with a very sharp and precise blade, so from the way they died, I very much doubt that Venom is the culprit, as much as I'd like to pin this on the guy.”

“And how certain are you about this?” Cole quirked an eyebrow.

The kid looked him dead in the eye, the spark of certainty not fading even a little, “Absolutely certain sir.”

“Damn, I think he's going to replace you Cole,” Maud chuckled, slapping the detective hard on the back. The young man, as if realizing what he'd just done was blushing furiously and apologizing ungracefully.

“You got the brains, still a bit green though, what's your name kid?”

“Peter, Peter Parker, nice to meet you!”

 

 

Comedy gold, yeah, as if that would make me actually rich. You know, they made cartoons about this where the main character trudges through sun and rain, and snow either melting, soaking or just freezing his ass off to the elements. I am living that scenario.  
Granted, I never shuffle off this mortal coil for long but hell, even this is taking comedy vs reality a teeny tiny bit too far.

[Our life seems to be just that, a joke]

(Waah, waah, waaahhh)

“Memo to self, pay certain lady a visit about the ridiculously short visiting hours, we never get enough time for any fun every time I conk out for a few I mean, a few minutes? Come on, the least I could get is a few hours with her before she kicks my ass back to the land of the living.”

Busting my ass walking through the freezing desert, I had the intense urge to sing “Country Roads” by John Denver just to make this even more hilarious, but I've never been a country kinda guy. But I know a few tricks when dealing in the desert.

[One, find a safe spot preferably under or near a rock]

That's rule number one

(Wait, there's rules now?!)

There are now. Rocks rock rocks, plenty of them around, which one though.

“So many to choose from, so little, oh wait, plenty of time actually.” Not like I was in a hurry to get back to whatever death sentence they've got in store for me. Probably would be a better idea to relocate, again.

Finally after some more indecisive and totally no idea which rock to choose (They're rocks, can't be that hard, I kind like the one that looks like princess Lumpy), I finally think I got the perfect rock, though something about it is different from all the other rocks.

[The fact that it looks like a duck's bill wasn't the only reason it caught your eye?]

Okay, I can't help it, ducks are the best. Or maybe it's the dehydration again. Wait are those boulders whispering to each other?  
So here I was sitting on top of said rock and watching the other rocks whispering, probably about me.

“Look I'm only one man, with one fine set of ass, I'll give you all a turn later.”

Great, now I'm yelling back at them [Looks like someone's lonely tonight](Too bad there're no babes around)  
Then I hear shuffling, like something scraping along the ground followed by a keening sound.

“Oh I hope it's a rabbit, rabbit means food!”

(That doesn't sound like a rabbit)

[Note: there are no rabbits out in the desert.]  
Curiouser and curiouser, not that curiosity could kill me, hell, not even a death laser to the head could kill me and I'm clearly not a cat. So like some Alice thrown into a horror flick, I slide down from my rocky perch to investigate the sound. I have a pretty good idea that this isn't gonna end well.  
I'm hailed by bullets just as I round the corner.

“Seriously, that's like, the most clichéd thing in movies!”

[We're not in a movie] 

I duck back behind my sweet, sweet rock. Better to take these guys out then be obliterated to pieces wather than the other way around. This would a be a good time to draw my own guns and own these fuckers (Like a badass in a badass movie) do I reached around for my girls only to realize, they'd blown up along with the fucking car.

[Way to Rambo]

(Guess our only gun now is Deadpool Junior down below)

“Sigh, at least I got my trusty swords.” I reached around and grabbed the air, “Motherfucker!”

(Dammit, those were designer!)

[Shame we killed the guy selling them along with other contrabands]

“Right, time to go caveman.” I say as I picked up a rock, or a ten. I hurl those babies like I could've been running for the baseball league and I gotta say, if it weren't for my ugly mug, I probably would have made the team. The first rock hits one mook square in the nose while my seconds and thirds strike nuts and while I'm at it, I managed to count a total of, get this, nineteen men armed to the teeth and balls. And if I juuuust squint enough, they look exactly the same as the guys who blew up my ride and my weapons along with it.

(Ooooh, perfect timing. Now for some payback) 

“I feel like I should be honoured or something.”

And then one breaks out a rocket launcher, always the rocket launcher. It's like no siege or assault is ever complete without someone pointing missiles around the five minute mark, it's almost hilarious. I launch another rock straight for the missiles guy and it smashes him right in the eye, making him drop the thing like a hot potato. These minions are probably untrained because that's a big explosives weapon no no, and the rest are leaping out of the way a second too late because it goes boom faster than I could say chilli. Thank god for the desert because the clean up I'd have to do back home, all those legs and arms and innards everywhere do not a happy housewife make.

[You don't have a wife]

(Yeah not even a pretend quickie, the last one left you with crushed balls)

Alright, back to business, I take out two more who-are-totally-not-peeing-their-pant-oh-god-they-really-did, and I'm left with the last one now a trembling mess with an AK-47 in his arms. Just my luck, probably the party newbie stuck on the wrong job. Maybe I should try one of my famous lines. I stare the guy in the eye for fifteen seconds tops.

“Hello, Georgie. Aren't cha gonna say...hello?”

The reaction is pure gold, “Oh my god!” He shits his pants. 

[That isn't even your line, I call copyright infringement]

Looks like someone been on too many late nights horrors.

“So, wanna tell me why you and your pals are out into the middle of nowhere stalking little 'ol me?”

He doesn't answer, just stands there like a scared little girl staring at a monster. Well pretty close actually. So I tried again. This time, I had a handy gun landed a few feet away with the arm still attached, or was it the other way around. I picked it up and aaahh, it certainly feels good to be holding a firearm again. But then again that combat knife a little further away in front of me looks wicked.

“Let me make this easy for you, you tell me what you know and I don't take your legs and arms off  
one by one and have 'em for dinner.”

“What, oh god, p-please. Don't eat me!”

Whoa, what was this guy on before he came over on this road trip. He must really be seeing demons. But I can play along.

“Better spill the beans, before I spill your guts!” I growl trying to imitate a hungry beast, if he wasn't as terrified as he was he probably would've noticed how badly I was failing.

“I, I don't know anything, I only just got on the team,” I take a step towards him and pick up the knife, playing cannibal with a blade, “I swear, the other guys were talking about intercepting a valuable transport, and you had it.”

“Who the hell wants the kid? Who is trying to take my business?”

“Kid? What kid? Look I just know that my employer, some rich big name on the outskirts of New York City really wanted the cargo.”

“Name, I need names!”

Uh, he's…” dude was cut off before I could get anything worth while out of him as he turned back real quick and looked over his shoulder. I assumed he was going to make a break for it but he just stood in terror, like real terror for only a fraction of a sec before something jumping on him from behind. He screams like hell and I can't see anything clearly but I could make out that the black mass is latching on tight. Pretty soon, they both collapse and my only informer is dead as a doorknob. Damn. Come on, I know this guy was, like destined to die or something but at least let him spill before actually spilling his guts and offing him from the story. Some writers are cruel.

“Aww, come on, I needed him.”

The thing raises its head and looks at me with red eyes. I don't think either me or the writer is sure which trope this fits into.

 

No one ventures into a desert, not without back up. Because no one ever knows what could happen when they are out there and the dangers quickly stack up. Lewis already had the potential threats posted at the back of his mind before the squad he was in was sent out on a hunt for a certain mercenary, carrying a certain valuable commodity. They weren't paid to ask questions and certainly not of his rank so he kept his mouth shut and listened for whatever he could catch. All that he knew was who they were targeting, one guy in a stupid costume, what they were supposed to do and where they were going to search. And in the desert, coyotes, snakes and all manner of death-traps were high on the list.  
But there were a few other things none of the team accounted for, one that the one guy was the one and only merc with a mouth Deadpool and the other, which Lewis quickly found out, that things do really go bump in the night and not the cute not terrifying way, things that should stay in horror stories never do when you want them to. And that thing, the thing, the boy with a human face ripping out his throat came out of his shadow. He should've listened to his mother when she told him to stay away from the bad crowd.

Petrakar felt good again, after so long with little sustenance under the sun, he felt like he was going to turn into dust. And there were so many other bodies, still alive and pumping with life. When he looked up he spotted the idiot from earlier, mouth agape as he watched him feed.

“This one knows little, he won't do you any good,” the kid hissed as he lapped up the last drop, he stood and discarded the corpse like an empty juice-box and turned his attention to the others. Unconscious but very much alive, given a few generous minutes they would probably regain consciousness. Not that Petrakar intended to allow that.

“Whoa, whoa whoa, wait, are you gonna just snack on all my opportunities for some info?”  
the idiot said as Petrakar dragged one up by the collar. He gave the disease ridden man an evil little grin and began to drain his prey. He dropped the body as soon as he was done and brought his arm up to his mouth, smudging the blood a little.

“Calm down, I'll leave at least one for you to interrogate.”

The mercenary sat down on the cold dust with a huff while Petrakar got to work on the rest of the knocked out assailants. He had to admit, perhaps he was getting a bit greedy, one didn't need to consume that much in one go and he'd probably regret it later. But hell, he couldn't care less about that and even less for these men. Beggars can't choose and these men knew how dangerous their line of work is, and right now, he was parched.  
Disappointingly, none of them made much of a sound, only the odd sigh as they breathed their last was audible. Well, that and red and black muttering to himself a few metres away. Wade was upset at having been sidelined and forced to wait while this strange kid ate up all his fun. Wasn't he usually the one that kills? He contemplated fighting the boy for it except rule of thumb is that you don't fight the hot chick for anything, even though he wasn't a chick. Wade that is. No point in starting one now.

“There,” the boy said, true to his word he dragged the last one alive up by the neck and lobbed him over to the man like a rag doll, to his satisfaction, the unconscious man fell on top of the other with a groan. Deadpool scrabbled with the mess of limbs. He stared up blinking a few times with disbelief. Spidey wasn't this callous and cruel.

“Anything else you'd like to demand?”

“Yeah, don't run off, Imma need you to stick around for this,” the young man let out a sound of indignation. There goes his plans to leave this imbecile to his own fate and attempting to find a way home himself.

“Why should I do that?”

“Cuz these guy, were after the cargo which means they were after you and it just so happens I'd like to know why even though I really shouldn't stick my nose into other people's business and this should be like, your thing because, hello, they were going to take you away.”

The kid just stood, arms crossed and glared at him like he could burn a hole through the mercs head if he tried, he wasn't impressed at all and he was in poor temperament.

“Come on, don't you wanna know why they came all the way out in the middle of nowhere with guns and all, just for you?” 

After a moment of awkward silence, which was more on Deadpool than the boy, he finally spoke, “Point. Taken.”  
“Great, so...can you help me tie him up with, I dunno, your webs? Kinda rope-less.”

The kid rolled his eyes but complied, trailing his fingertips over the unconscious form and let loose a string of webbing, winding and winding it around until the man was firmly bound. He wouldn't be moving anywhere while Deadpool got busy with interrogations. Though that took a while as they waited for him to wake. Wade would consider using water if there was any around. The cacti looked useful. Petrakar contemplated asking how hard he'd hit the man before both their attention was drawn to him. He muttered something about his head throbbing. His expression of annoyance changed to horror as his eyes settled on them. Darting from the two menacing figures to the corpses of his fellow team-mates and back.

“Good, you're up, don't panic we just have to ask you about a few things,” Deadpool said, cocking his new friend a mini-automatic, “Unless you're not planning to talk in which case, you can panic.”

With a gun pressed, there was little he could do but stare wide-eyed and try not to scream for mother. He gulped and thought to open his mouth when flashes of a cruel smile in a pressed clean suit bellowed threats terrible enough to shut his mouth again. He shook his head.  
Movement in the mask suggested that the weirdo with the gun was raising an eyebrow in question.  
The boy with arms crossed scowled a little, he knew what his little frantic gesture meant, which somehow, judging by his expression, made this hostage situation ever more fragile.

“What, no? Why's that? Is a bullet to your fucking brain not enough? DO I have to show you the wonders of BDSM minus the naughty parts to con-” the kid gripped Deadpool's shoulder, nails lengthened and became much sharper, turning into claws which both the bound man and Wade witnessed. Wade thought for a moment the pretty thing was going to bitchslap him for the BDSM comment, it would hurt like a bitch too but hot as hell. However, it seem to have done the job as the hired gun instantly reacted with terror, his eyes widen and he looks like he's trying to scream and failing. Much to Wade's confusion. He's seen tamer stuff before, what with all the weird crap and contracts he went through.

“Oh my god, y-you're a...a,” the man spluttered.

“Choose your next words carefully, or it's going to be one torturous trip to hell for you.”

[Oooh, such dangerous words in that voice]

(I've got the chills down you know where)

“All right, all right, I'll t-talk, please just get that demon away from me!” 

“Good, good, now spill, why the hell are you out here after me? Tell us everything.”

“We were under orders to have you killed before reaching the client with the goods, then deliver it ourselves with no questions. Something about, you couldn't be trusted and you were a liability. We were told to get rid of you as soon as possible.”

“Wait this is the same guy that 'hired' me?”

The man nodded.

“Well, damn, we got ourselves a backstabber. That bastard...” Wade grumbled, “I only charged him twenty thousand for the service, it's not that much. Rich assholes are always so stingy.”

Wade stood and began pacing around in a show of contemplation wondering whether or not he should get a bit of revenge and how he was going to end this sucker and whether he could get mexican food within the next day or two. But mostly how he should plan his revenge and make it look like one of those bond cover pictures with the kid as the chick. Wait, what happened to the earlier though process?

“Will you...let me go? That's all I know, I swear it wasn't personal.”

“Oh right yeah,” Deadpool leaned right in, glaring menacingly, as if the guy could see his evil ugly grin, “Of course it's not, so when I blow your head off, you won't take it personally will you?”

The little piece of crap paled and Wade could sweat he'd stained his pant, with a whole load of unmentionable substances.

“No, please, don't kill me. I swear I won't bother you, please just let me go.”

“Hm, stranded out in the middle of nowhere, I'm after losing my swords which, by the way are collectibles and I haven't gotten laid in the past three months, mmmm, nah. Not feeling charitable at all.”

“Oh please god, no,” the man turned into a babbling mess, begging for his life which was just amusing enough to cancel out all the other crap that's happened. What could he say, Wade was easily entertained. He was just about to put one in the guy's leg just to up the fun factor when a hand erupted from his chest.  
The hired gun stared down at his chest at the tube that was his own trachea in a black clawed grip, blood began to pour from his mouth. It took agonizing moments before he finally died from asphyxiation, choking on his own blood and no trachea.

“Aw dude, really?”

“His incessant pitiful begging was beginning to get on my nerves,” Petrakar said.

“Damn it, you could've just asked me to, I would've loaded his brains up with lead.”

“I don't need you to do anything, nor do I ask anything of anyone, especially not from someone like you.”

“Ouch, cold there. You take all my fun and then you give me shit? Geez you're worse than Domino.”

The kid whipped around snarling, eyes now glowing red, a shade up from rust, “Fun, you think I find this fun?! Nothing about death is amusing, everyDAY I face it, breathe it, live in it. I watch people die, take their life and listen to them screaming and crying, there is nothing fun about it,” the kid lost all stoicism and a sliver of that humanity began to show, “Each moment there is nothing but pure hatred or despair in me, I don't find any of this amusing.”

Wade literally was speechless.

(That...was definitely not in-character)

[And our hero of the story is out of words for once.]

(Wait, wasn't the kid the main character)

[We're not supposed to know]

Wade was stuck in freeze mode, the boy turned and began to walk away. Petrakar had just let slip a bit of himself, that bitterness that permeated his soul. It was best he leave and pretend that never happened. Priority, to find a way home.

“Wait, where are you going?”

“I'm leaving, this isn't my world I need to get back.”

Wade jogged up to the kid who didn't even slow for a nanosecond, but Wade, topping the kid's height by a head and shoulder didn't find it too hard to catch up.

“Wait wait wait, okay, can we make a deal. So you know this guy's trying to kill me and stuff and I would really like a bit of payback and compensation pay, you want to get back to...wherever it is you came from,” the boy began to slow, eyeing slash glaring at Deadpool, “I probably know some guys who know how to get you back and stuff soooo…”

“What?” the kid ground out, “I don't have a lot of patience for this.”

“Okay okay, geez, hold your horses. I was thinking, if you help me out with this, I'll help you out with your problem and we both get something out of it. You know, quid pro quo, you scratch my back I scratch yours, a friend in need is a-”

“Enough already, I'll consider it.” the boy said as he turned away once more, stopping abruptly.

The young man began to sway on his feet and stumbled, luckily Wade reacted quickly and caught him before he could hit the ground. Petrakar could feel his body going numb and cold as his strength quickly slipped. If he continued like this he might go dormant. He really needed to get back.

“Whoa, you okay? Food coma kicking in?”

“I...I think I've used too much power, it's taking a toll on my energy. No matter how much I consume, it's not enough even my simplest shadow form is taking more than it usually does. My abilities must work differently here.”

This was bad, he was starting to black out.

“Christ, you're freezing. Come on, let's get you warmed up.”

Petrakar was laid down by a boulder still giving off residual heat as the mercenary began working on getting a fire going. It took no longer than a couple of minutes for him to start one. Surprisingly, he knew what he was doing. Petrakar watched as he fussed around the bodies, likely looting them.  
He couldn't keep his eyes open any longer.


	15. Chapter 15

Pertrakra shifted to ease the dull ache in his muscles which were so uncomfortable that it felt as if they were atrophying. Preposterous idea but a rather unpleasant sensation all the same. In his attempt to relieve the stress, stretching and flexing he noticed someone had graciously covered him with…badly sown up garments of the men from earlier. Evident with the blood and a few holes in them. Though he had to admit, the drying blood didn't bother him as much, rather comforting actually, he probably shouldn't think like that or he could get blood addiction.

His eyes darted around the darkness and expanse of stars when he felt the shuffling of feet on the ground, the smell of embers burning followed soon after. As quiet and subtle as a mouse, he turned and sure enough, someone was still there, huddled over a fire occasionally poking at it with a stick. Pertrakra watched him for a bit. Either the stranger didn't register his presence or he was purposefully letting his guard down, his back towards a predator. How naive. Slowly, Petrakra shifted and crawled forwards on all fours and six and eight. The extra limbs that sprouted from his back spread his weight evenly as he carefully stalked forwards, once he was about several feet away he settled down, waiting. Finally, the man made to get up and as he turned around, Petrakra pounced, taking the man with him a few meters back, flying past the bonfire.

“Whoa!” he cried as Pertrakar bared his teeth. To his surprise, it was the mercenary from before, much to his disappointment. There was little, he knew, he could get out of him and he could smell the arousal wafting like a stench. How irritating.

“Wow, babe, didn't know you liked me that much,” he quipped making Pertrakar roll his eyes and get up, “Aww come on, things were getting hot.”

Pertrakar wanted to leave, he'd already wasted too much time with him and he wasn't edible in any way

“That was a pretty cool, like, you know like in those b-horrors with the demons and mutants and-”

Pertrakar spun around and ground out threateningly, “Absolutely useless, I'm leaving.”

The mercenary held up his hands, “Aww, what did I do?”

“You're not even worth eating.”

“Ouch. Well, yeah I know, cancer and stuff, look we got some meat, what do you fancy? Fox? Snake? Dead dudes?”

Pertrakar refused to dignify him with an answer and began to walk off.

“We're miles from anywhere and the desert gets pretty nasty at sunrise,” Pertrakar stopped and threw a look over his shoulder, Deadpool merely shrugged, “I'm guessing you don't take well to the sun?” 

Smug bastard must be grinning under that damn mask, but he had to concede. Unable to feed and wandering aimlessly with his powers limited, this could end him before he could find his way back to his realm. And the deserts oppressive heat and sun would worsen it. He reluctantly allowed himself to be guided back in the direction of the fire and sat down in one cozy spot the man had prepared.  
Deadpool settled in beside him and went back to tending the little rodents he'd been roasting, smiling just that little bit. The kid acted more like a very cautious people hating animal, a very intelligent people hating animal as he huddled up in the covers Wade had sown up [badly].

“So, how'd you end up in a box in the clutches of a shady dealer?”

“I got reckless, lost myself and was captured for my trouble.”

“Lost yourself? How does that work, I mean, I lost my mind but I’m pretty sure I know where I am.”

“I got desperate, alright, they were hunting me so I let myself go, turns out I don’t work so well when I’m not thinking.”

Deadpool leaned back scratching at his chin, “Wow, I do that on a daily basis and it always works like a charm for me, not thinking that is”

Pertrakar responded to that with a raised eyebrow but said nothing about it. He didn't meet insane people on a daily basis but when he did, they were usually out to kill, or there for him to kill. This one however, had the scent of death about him but his core was not touched. That was to say, he had no certainty of death. This was how he could tell mortals apart from the rest. The only thing that changed it was…

“So, let me guess, you're trying to get back right?”

“You're sharper than you seem.”

“Hey, I resent that remark!” Deadpool pulled one burning carcass from the fire and began to blow, scraping off some of the burnt skin, “Well, I don't do dimension travelling gear and the only one I have is at home right next to Dollie.”

“Dollie?”

“Oh yeah, I should introduce you sometime, she blows up real fast and won't talk back to you. Not great for kissing, she tastes like latex, bleh!”

Pertrakar turned away and sighed silently to himself. A sex doll? Really? Not the first he's heard but given how cheery the man was, and how he worded every bit of that sentence was cause for concern. Suddenly, he found the skewer pushed right up to his face and looked up at Deadpool to see him tearing into his own and toting the other for Pertrakar to take. Pertrakar shook his head, refusing the meat.

“What's the matter? Don't tell me you're vegan after all that tearing out people's hearts and throats and stuff.”

“Not that hungry and it won’t do me any good,” Pertrakar said rather irritably.

“What do you eat then?”

The boy sighed, “You’ll figure it out.”

“Wait, it’s blood isn’t it. Like True Blood, Dracula kind of blood. That's a quite limited diet, kinda unhealthy don't you think, I mean, I don't know much eating blood and fear.”

“And your diet of Mexican fast food is?” Pertrakar countered with a humoured lilt to his voice.

“Hey, it's got meat, carbs, a bit of veg and lotsa lotsa sauce and...how the heck did you find out my favourite food?!” 

He didn't answer instead, his eyes stared straight through Wade for the longest two minutes, flickering with light and shadow. Suddenly the boy's expression changed from curious to a little melancholic, he seemed lost for a moment, staring into the as Wade rambled on, he stopped and noticed the look of longing or was it nostalgia?

“Hey, what's up?” He asked, Pertrakar caught himself and looked away forcing down the surfacing pain. Replacing his mask. Wade didn't miss that one moment. Still he didn't push further or risk those claws getting into places and not in a nice way. The kid turns his face away looking very annoyed now. He pulled his knees right up to his chin and his arms crossed and circled around them, hiding half of his face from view.

“Nothing and none of your business.”

(Awww how cute he's being all tsundere)

[I'm pretty sure that's all in our head]

“Okay, okay no sweat. We can talk it out later when you're feeling good,” the mercenary said waggling his eyebrow, “In the meantime, I'm Deadpool, aka, Wade, aka, merc with a mouth.”

The young man turned back a little allowing Wade a view of his eyes, wary. A second or so of silence and staring the boy finally opened his mouth. Pausing for a moment.

“Petrakra.”

Wade made an over-exaggerated motion of shock and awe [We kind of binge watch a whole season of anime](And it wasn't just one particular)[or in any order] again, the boy raised an eyebrow in response.

“What kind of name is that, Russian? Dutch? Qwenyar?”

“It's a name, if you dislike it then you can forget it.”

“It's not bad I mean, kinda complicated, you know what I mean, why don't I call you Petra, how about it?”

He considered it for a moment, given how much of a girlish name that sounded he would've protested but he was already to tired to put up an argument.

“Fine, Wade, we'll go with it and I’ll take you up on your offer, but I’m warning you, I have little reason to trust you and if you betray me, we will hunt you down.”

Wade almost squealed at the mention of his name. Though that last comment carried more in it, (who says ‘we’ about themselves anymore?)[Unless...] Wade would press but the kid seemed too tired to deal with any dumbass stuff he had to say so he dropped it. This was going to be an awesome team up, next to the Avengers of course. 

 

They rose before morning, or at least Petra did, it took a lot of shaking and light punches before he could rouse Wade from his grumbling and sleep talking, when the mercenary was finally out of his sleepy stupor, they were ready to go. Along the way, he couldn’t stop from thinking back on the precious night. Petra had no intention of giving any his name and he was far too close to giving Wade his real name, too close to those memories associated with it. The danger of becoming too close with anyone here was real plus some encounters he really needed to avoid. All the more reason to high-tail it out of this world.  
All in good time, if only there was a remedy for the constant nagging and chatting mercenary now trailing behind him. Mostly nagging at the moment about why they had to get up so early and how he hated not getting his beauty sleep and how Petra needed his and talking to himself, again.  
How did this idiot survive for so long?

“I’m not kidding, I mean what, it must be freaking four in the morning, like, I don’t have a watch, that got busted, so it’s probably not four but I’m pretty darn sure we only slept for I dunno three hours? That’s ridiculous, what happened to a healthy eight hours, is this what kids do these days?” Wade was already on a roll and not stopping. “I AM calm, cool as a popsicle! Wait….Do you do this EVERY day? Jesus, no wonder you look like Marilyn Manson’s groupie and you know how much I hate that guy’s music?”

Petra whipped around, seizing Deadpool by his tattered suit collar, glaring threateningly into the ugly mask, “You can either shut up or I can make you wish you did.”

Wade could see the boy’s eyes flickering, like he was struggling for control with his anger not helping.

“Alright, chill dude, I’m just not an early riser, you should see what happens when the mail dude comes around and rings the doorbell. Pretty sure they’ve run through a few dozen employees by my place,” Wade chuckled, still Petra was not amused but he released his grip and began stalking off. 

For a few hours they walked under a lowering moon, silent except for the howling wind. And only two minutes in and Wade was bored. And for the rest of the time, Petra was forced to deal with his rambling of absolutely nothing. It seemed he was just talking for the sake of it. Every once in a while Pertrakar could catch the words, hot, cold, damn shame, kid and some others and assume the mercenary was talking about him.

He could feel the desert’s temperature begin to rise after what Peter could guess was the eighth mile mark, as they walked on, their pace inconsistent, punctuated by Wade’s tendency to be distracted. Petra didn’t plan on clearing the sandy expanse before daylight but he hoped that at least they would reach some place where they could be out of the glare of the sun. But so far, nothing but barren wasteland as far as the eye see, not even a rock big enough to huddle under. Curse the mercenary for wasting their time sleeping the night away, he would have walked away if Deadpool didn’t offer to find him a solution to fix this mess.   
But if they had to walk under the damned sun then he might as well be dead or close to it. He could hear the man calling and whistling after him, his voice becoming distant at several intervals when he stopped for who knows what reason.

“We won’t make it to another shelter by sunrise at this point,” he thought to himself.

“You okay? You look a bit panicky.”

Petra walked on without even glancing at Wade, decidedly ignoring him as he’d been doing since the start. They had to pick up the pace now.  
(Wow, the kid’s really desperate)[He probably might burn at sunrise](No wonder he’s so pale)

“Not that that’s a bad thing, he may be a goth but he’s one hot goth.” [Thought you weren’t into goths]

Petra was too preoccupied to hear Wade talking to himself. Searching the distance for a cave or deep cut in the landscape which he could crawl into. And there was none. By the time they had covered a few more miles the sun was well up in the sky and beating mercilessly down on them and then the thirst came, not a normal thirst for water but more hunger, ravenous and unbearable, and Petra realized that he’d run out. Even with it, the diseased mercenary was not an option. So the only other scenario was eventual collapse and coma, probably death. He was going to die out here with some stupid cancerous, potty-mouthed idiot in some god-forsaken desert on an unknown world without being able to call out to his kin. He could cry. 

“Hey, hey, you listening?”

Petra could barely register the voice, it must have only been an hour or something and already he was too weak to sense anything, his connection must have been completely severed.

“Whoa, hey!” Wade said as he caught the boy just before he hit the dirt. Petra hadn’t realized he was falling.

“Shit, you weren’t kidding when you didn’t like the sun.”

Strong arms held him up while his consciousness began to fade. Part him was yelling back to stay awake, pass out and it would leave him prone, but his body was already shutting down. Too late, the edges of his vision blurred and blackened. Damn it all to hell.

**Author's Note:**

> Take note, there is an OC in this story


End file.
